


Et Toujours! Et Jamais!

by indiefic



Category: Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter - Laurell K. Hamilton
Genre: F/M, Pregnancy, There's a baby, death of a minor character, graphic depictions of a crime scene, graphic depictions of childbirth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-11 19:11:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4448738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indiefic/pseuds/indiefic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This series breaks off after The Killing Dance, but there are a few differences.  Jean-Claude and Anita were never on the evening news at the opening of Danse Macabre.  Neither the cops, nor Anita's family know that she was dating Jean-Claude.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mercy

**Author's Note:**

> The Entire Series is called Et Toujours! Et Jamais! The name comes from an 1863 bronze by French artist Pierre-Eugene-Emile Hebert. The title translates directly as "Always and Never", but the piece is more commonly known in English as "Death and the Maiden". The statue depicts a beautiful young maiden being held by a decaying corpse. Some say it is the maiden's beloved returned from the grave to embrace her, others say she is being dragged down to Hell. I thought it was an appropriate visual for Anita and her power.

Maybe it really would be all right.  I wanted so desperately to believe that, but I couldn’t lie to myself.  Not about something like this.  I watched Monica coo and cuddle her son as if she were a real live caring mother and not some manipulative bitch that almost got my best friend killed.  I didn’t care if she was someone’s mother now, or a grieving widow.  I wasn’t cutting her any slack.  She was reckless and most of the time, that’s more dangerous than being malicious.

Jean-Claude watched her as well, his face its usual inscrutable mask.  He looked amused, but then again he always looked amused.  He did that when he didn’t want you to know what he was thinking.  It worked.  I had no idea what he saw when he looked at Monica and Robert’s child.

Watching Monica should have calmed me down, at least I think that’s what she wanted.  Maybe she wasn’t such a monster, or maybe she just didn’t mean to be.  I hadn’t wanted her to come over, but she insisted.  She thought she could cheer me up.  I held her hand once, when she went into premature labor right after Robert’s murder.  Suddenly, we were friends in her twisted mind.  I still had the crescent shaped scars from her fingernails.

Who the hell would bring an eight month old child to The Circus?  Leave it to her.  She came over with Derek in tow and was welcomed with open arms.  Of course.  Jean-Claude still felt guilty about Robert’s death.  He made sure Monica and Derek never wanted for anything.  She pretty much had free rein around the city, waited on hand and foot by Jean-Claude’s fanged flunkies.  I thought maybe this was what she always wanted.  Bully for her.

I shifted, trying to get comfortable, but it was no use.  I hadn’t been comfortable for months.  I wouldn’t be comfortable for a good while to come.  Monica gave me a sympathetic look and patted my hand.  It took everything I had not to pull away in disgust.  Jean-Claude distracted her, asking about her financial situation.  Monica would take any excuse to talk about money, she released my hand and turned to face him.  I felt relief wash over me.  Sometimes it scared me how well Jean-Claude knew me.

Derek looked at me from his mother’s arms.  It wasn’t a happy look, just quizzical.  I wondered if he could really see me.  The lighting was dim and I wasn’t too close.  Babies don’t have the best eyesight – see I did read a few of those books Jason kept leaving in my room.  His eyes were a muddled blue green, still thick with the otherworldly luminescence all babies’ eyes have.  Ten fingers, ten toes, normal reflexes.  Monica got lucky.  Real lucky.  Vlad syndrome was the highest growing birth defect in the world.  It was a nasty side effect of human women sleeping with male vampires.  It could get ugly.  Derek was a miracle child.  He shouldn’t have been possible.  Robert was over a century old.  Usually, only the newly dead were capable of getting a woman pregnant.  Derek should have been born blind, retarded, or even stillborn.  More appropriately, he never should have been conceived in the first place.  But here he was, happy and healthy.

Robert was a century old.  Jean-Claude was at least four times that.

Underneath the table, Jean-Claude brushed his fingers against the back of my hand.  I stiffened and gave him a dirty look.  He backed off immediately.

“Monica,” he said and I felt his voice inside my head like velvet, “ma petite tires easily these days.  It is time for us to retire.”

Monica frowned.  She enjoyed Jean-Claude’s company, just like every other female in a hundred mile radius.  I was the only one to ever tell him 'no'.  Of course, I was sitting there swollen with his child, so take that with a grain of salt.

I pushed my chair back and stood up carefully.  Jean-Claude was close by, watching.  He didn’t offer to help and I was thankful for that.  I wasn’t in the mood to be touched at that moment, especially by him.  He let me lead the way to his private offices and down the stairs to his rooms, deep beneath The Circus.  The stairway was wide, at least eight feet across and long, so long.  Jean-Claude walked in front, never looking back, but I knew he was paying attention to me.  He had good reason to, these stairs got a little more difficult every day.

Some women look wonderful when they’re pregnant, glowing and beautiful.  I wasn’t one of them.  When you’re five foot three, an extra thirty pounds makes a hell of a difference.  I looked like Veruca from that book Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.  The part where she eats the candy and blows up like a giant blueberry.  That was me.  My roundness didn’t seem to bother Jean-Claude, but it bothered me.  The extra weight, the change in my center of balance.  All of it made me a stranger in my own body.  I didn’t know myself anymore.  I was always tired or sick or achy.  I couldn’t trust my body.  I felt helpless and I hated that.  I absolutely fucking hated that.

It hadn’t been my idea to move to The Circus.  I would have been content in my new house in the middle of nowhere, pretending none of this was happening, but I fell down in the shower last week and couldn’t get up.  Ronnie found me when she stopped by for our usual Thursday morning get together.  It used to be a workout but about two months ago, that stopped.  I got tired of her humoring me while I tried to waddle after her as she ran.  We still got together, there just wasn't any exercise involved anymore.  Anyway, Ronnie was the one who called Jean-Claude.  I think it killed her a little to have to do that.  Up until that point, I think she still had hopes for me and Richard.  I let go of that one a long time ago, it was just as well that she did too.

So now I stayed at The Circus of the Damned, or rather below it, in Jean-Claude’s private rooms.  He didn’t pressure me the way he once would have.  He slept in his coffin, away from me, leaving Jason to look after me while the sun was up.  Some disgustingly hopeful part of me wanted to think he did it solely because he understood that I needed space, but part of me knew he was trying to guard himself.  He didn’t want to get attached anymore than I did.

“Ma petite?”  Jean-Claude stood at the bottom of the stairs, holding open the door that lead to his living room.

“I’m fine,” I said, walking under his arm to get through the doorway.  It wasn’t hard.  He wasn’t overly tall, five-ten, but he was still a lot taller than me.  Only a couple of months ago, he would have taken the opportunity to brush against me, or flirt.  But he didn’t do any of that, not now.  When we found out I was pregnant, I don’t think either of us thought it was real.  We pretended it wasn’t happening.  We still had sex, and it was still amazing, but one night we were lying in his bed pressed together enjoying the afterglow, and the baby kicked.  Neither of us moved.  I’m not even sure we were breathing.  I slept alone ever since.

“Monica wants to put your mind at rest,” Jean-Claude said.  His voice was just a voice when he spoke, not the sensual assault it could have been.  It was almost like the whole situation with our unborn child defeated him.  I tried not to let it bother me.  I was staring at the painting over the fireplace, the one Asher sent him before they reconciled, but I turned to face him.  He wasn’t looking at me, but rather at his feet, his expression slightly forlorn.  Funny that.  He wasn’t the one who might have to give birth to a dead baby, or worse.

“I would rather not see Monica again,” I said.  “Not until ... after.”

Jean-Claude looked up at me, his eyes a perfect midnight blue, his face framed by his long, curly, black hair.  He nodded.  His beauty was breathtaking, but it was still just a human beauty.  He wasn’t using any of his power to make himself appear otherworldly.  I wasn’t sure if that was comforting or disheartening.

I looked back at the painting again.  Jean-Claude’s visage stared blankly back at me.  He was already a vampire when it was painted, but it was still during what would have been his mortal life.  His mother was still alive at the time.

I wondered what this child might mean to him.  I hadn’t wanted to get pregnant.  I thought we were careful.  I never wanted children.  But not wanting children, and having them not even be a possibility are not the same thing.  What did Jean-Claude think of his impending fatherhood?  After four centuries of hedonism, was he ready to be a parent?  He was surrounded by vampires he made, so he was already a parent of sorts.  Would he treat the child as he treated them, or was it a completely different relationship?  The latter, I hoped.  I had seen how he tortured his “children”.

“It is late,” he said.  “Perhaps you should turn in.”

I wanted to argue with him, to tell him to fuck off, that I didn’t need a babysitter, but he was right.  I was bone tired.  I wasn’t sure if I was more mad at him, or myself.  I lead the way down the hallway to his room.  The first time I saw it, it was made for sensual abandon.  It was still beautiful, but gone were the blood red silk sheets and the mountains of pillows.  Now it was cotton and functional.  On the plain white bedspread, Sigmund, my stuffed penguin, waited for me.  If Jean-Claude minded, he didn’t say anything.  He didn’t even smirk in amusement.  Sometimes I thought carrying his child might have been a hell of a perk.  He wasn’t nearly so much of a pain in the ass now that he thought he might be a father to a monster.

He kissed me lightly on the forehead and left.  He wouldn’t be going to his coffin yet.  It was too early.  Months ago I might have been jealous, thought that he might be going to another lover.  Now I didn’t worry.  It seemed that my pregnancy had turned sex into some sort of horror for him.  Until this child was born, dead, alive or other, he would live like a monk.  Of course, I would too, so I didn’t pity him in the least.

*****   
“Stop it,” I snapped, in no mood for his sulking.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jason smarted off, goading me with his ever present smile.

Jason wasn’t happy with me.  Jean-Claude left strict orders that I was not to leave The Circus without his protection.  Too bad.  I had to get out of there, if only for a little while and Jean-Claude was literally dead to the world at the moment.  If I had been almost anyone else, Jason would have obeyed Jean-Claude’s orders and left them stranded in The Circus.  But I wasn’t just anyone.  Jason was lukoi, a werewolf.  He was Jean-Claude’s wolf, but he was also pack.  It just so happened that I was his lupa, his pack leader’s chosen mate.  It didn’t matter that Richard and I were no longer speaking, much less dating.  Richard hadn’t picked anyone else to fill the position yet, so technically I was still lupa.  Jason was a pain in the ass, but he was submissive to me.  He’d pushed the issue a few times in the past, and each time I had won.  I was dominant.  He had to obey me.  He and I both knew Jean-Claude would punish him later for his disobedience.  There was no way around that.  I didn’t make up the rules, but I sure as hell exploited them to my best advantage.

Jason was silent as he drove me to my little house in the middle of nowhere.  I hadn’t wanted to move.  I wasn’t big on suburban life, but there were too many people looking to kill me.  It bothered me a lot when my neighbors got shot up on my account.

As we pulled into the driveway, Jason and I let out a collective groan.  Richard’s Mustang was parked in the drive.  When I opened the door and gracelessly heaved myself out of my Jeep I could smell the freshly cut grass.  Damn it.  Richard was still trying to take care of me, even though he wasn’t speaking to me.

“Wait here,” I said to Jason.  He grinned.  It was pointless and I knew it.  Jason loved to be in the middle of any sort of drama and this was way too much temptation for him.  It was like locking a drug addict overnight in a pharmacy and expecting him to behave.  Some things are just not possible.

I walked around the back of the house and Richard was putting the lawn mower into the little shed.  I knew I didn’t have a lawn mower and I cursed under my breath.  On a junior high teacher’s salary, he couldn’t afford to be buying me things like that.

Richard didn’t react to my presence, but I knew he knew I was there.  Slowly, he stood up, brushing his hands off on his faded jeans and turned to face me.  It was painful to look at him.  He’s beautiful in an utterly masculine way, complete with dimple and skin so flawless it just begs you to lick it.  We were standing at least thirty feet apart and I could already smell him. It made something inside of me ache.  The look on his face was one of abject misery and more than a little rage.  I was bound to Richard just as I was bound to Jean-Claude, and as they were bound to each other.  I knew Richard was blocking me, keeping me from feeling his emotions and I was intensely grateful.

“Come inside,” I said.  “I’ll get you something to drink.”

He nodded and followed me inside.  I hadn’t been home in a few days, so I wasn’t exactly sure what I had to offer him.  I rooted around in the refrigerator and handed him a Coke.  He took it without saying anything, but he didn’t open it.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I said, motioning to the lawn.

“I know,” he said, his voice a near whisper.  “I just figured that in your ... condition, that you wouldn’t be able to.”

I nodded.  He was right, but I still wasn’t his problem.  In my “condition” I couldn’t even tie my own damn shoes.  I’d taken to wearing Berkenstocks.  I’m good at finding alternative ways to get things done.  If I had thought about it, I would have tethered some of the goats I use for animating out in the yard.  They would have taken care of the grass.

We both turned our heads as Jason swaggered into the room.  How anybody could get used to wearing that much leather day after day is beyond me.  “Where’s the stuff you wanted picked up?” he asked with a mischievous gleam in his eye.  He was loving this way too much.  Sometimes I understood exactly why he was Jean-Claude’s wolf.  They both have a flair for the dramatic.  Of course, Jean-Claude would not have been amused to find Richard in my house.  Differing perspectives, I guess.

“The office,” I said.  “I’ll show you.”

My house wasn’t huge, but it was too big for just me.  There were two bedrooms and an office.  I led Jason into the room and Richard followed uninvited.

“There,” I said, pointing to a large box sitting on the floor.  It was full of case files that Bert had sent home with me while I was off on medical leave.  I would have thought it was awfully generous of him to give me four months of paid leave, but everything Bert does is self-serving.  For some reason, he thought it might bother the clients to have their zombies raised by a woman who looked like she was going to give birth at any moment.  He was probably right, and it pissed me off, but I wasn’t going to argue with four months of paid vacation.

Jason grabbed the box and turned around, staring at Richard and me.  “You can take it out to the Jeep,” I said very pointedly.  Jason frowned, but left without a word.  There’s a first time for everything.

I turned to face Richard and found him looking around the room with an uncomfortable expression on his face.  “Don’t like the new office?” I asked, trying to keep my tone light.

He raised his head and looked at me.  It was a feral expression.  He knocked down the barrier he had built between us and his pain and rage and betrayal rushed over me so violently that I staggered backwards until I was leaning against the wall.

“How could you?” he demanded in more of a growl than a true voice.

I stared at him for a long moment, waiting to see if he was going to attack.  I didn’t have the Browning.  I quit carrying my guns when I realized I didn’t trust my body.  You look real stupid when you accidentally shoot yourself.  Right now, I would have risked it.

Richard stood his ground, but his emotions were still raining down on me, making me want to vomit.  I had never tasted so much unadulterated rage.  I had wounded him in a way that would never heal.

“We didn’t plan this,” I said, fighting to stand on my own.  It was hard, but I managed it.  I met his eyes.  I wasn’t backing down for anyone.

His vision raked down my body to my distended stomach.  It wasn’t like I could hide it.  I was due in three weeks.  I was huge.  I stood there and let him size me up like a piece of meat.  My hands ached for the Browning.

Something inside Richard seemed to back off and he looked at me, his expression arrogant and hateful.  “You had options,” he sneered, his implications startlingly clear.

“Killing, you mean,” I said, my voice now shaking with rage.  The irony was so thick you could have cut it with a knife.  Richard was the biggest Boy Scout I had ever met and he had just suggested that I should have had an abortion.  One of our biggest differences was that he valued the sanctity of life and I had a quick trigger finger.  Now he wanted me to kill.

He smiled and it was not pretty.  I looked at him and felt some of my own rage bleed away.  It was my fault that he was like this.  Irving, my friend and one of his wolves, had warned me months ago that Richard was on edge, but some part of me had refused to believe it was this bad.  Of course, it wasn’t just that I was sleeping with Jean-Claude, it was the fact that I was carrying his child.  I was Richard’s lupa, his chosen mate, and I had let another male knock me up.  It didn’t reflect well on Richard, and it didn’t do anything to help secure his position as Ulfric.  But it could have been worse, and we all knew that.  Wolves were Jean-Claude’s animal to call.  If Richard was Ulfric, the king of the werewolves, then Jean-Claude was their God.  If anyone was going to get the Ulfric’s bitch pregnant and live to tell the tale, it was the Master of the City.

“Would you really want me to kill an innocent child just because Jean-Claude is his father?”  I asked and my voice sounded almost thready.  I hated that, but there was nothing I could do about it.

“You’re afraid, Anita,” Richard growled.  “You don’t know what it is.  It might be a monster.  Killing it would have been the merciful thing to do.  I know you’ve seen children with Vlad syndrome.  Tell me they wouldn’t have been better off dead.”

“Him,” I choked out in protest.

Richard cocked his head, not understanding.

“This child is not an ‘it’,” I said through clenched teeth.  “I am carrying a little boy.  My child is a ‘him’, not an ‘it’.”

A snarling smile tugged at his lips and he leaned a hip against my desk.  He crossed his arms over his chest.  Only minutes ago, the gesture would have made me long to reach out and touch him.  Richard played innocent, but he knew how to show his body off to the best advantage.  But that was before he suggested killing my baby.  Funny how a simple comment can change your perception of someone.

“When are you due, Anita?” he asked.  “Two weeks?”

“Three.”

Richard nodded and looked around the room, the same smug expression on his face.  Richard is beautiful, handsome.  This was the first time I’d ever looked at his face and wanted to push it in.

“Where’s all the stuff?” he asked, fixing me with an expectant expression.

Now it was my turn to be confused.  “Huh?”  I’m so eloquent at times it’s scary.

“You’re going to give birth to Jean-Claude’s bastard monster in three weeks, and there is nothing in this house to reflect that.  I’m not an expert on the subject, but I’m fairly sure that most people make some sort of preparations.  They arrange a nursery, buy baby clothes, at the very least they have a few books laying around.  I know you didn’t let Ronnie throw you a baby shower.  You’re terrified of the child growing inside of you, Anita.”

The truth of his words hit me so hard that I staggered.  My back connected with the wall and I slid down it until I was huddled on the floor with my arms wrapped protectively around my stomach.  I was crying so violently that I doubted I would ever be able to stop.  Harsh sobs tore their way out of my throat, leaving it raw.  I don’t cry.  I blamed the outburst on the hormones, and on Richard.

If it was my pain and fear that Richard wanted, I sure as hell gave it to him.  The marks were a double edged sword.  I could feel his emotions, but he could feel mine too.  I don’t know how long I sat there sobbing before I realized that Richard had cradled me against his chest.  I pushed him away, and he let me go.  He didn’t have to, but he did.

“I’m sorry.  I’m sorry,” he chanted over and over, trying to calm me.

I took a few gasping breaths, trying to calm myself.  I know I looked awful.  My eyes were puffy and swollen.  My nose was running.  Hell of a way to impress your ex.

“I didn’t mean it,” he said, his expression fearful.  “I’m sorry.”

“Yes you did, Richard,” I said, my voice still thick with tears.

He hung his head in shame, because he had meant his earlier words.  I hung my head for the same reason.

“It will be okay,” he said, laying a tentative hand over mine.

I looked up at him and laughed, a harsh hysterical sound.  Once upon a time I cut someone using nothing but my voice.  I was almost shocked when Richard didn’t start bleeding.   “No it won’t.  You were right, Richard,” I said.  “I am so fucking terrified that my baby will be a monster, or just plain dead, that I can’t even think about it.”

Very cautiously, Richard moved his hand over my stomach.  “He’s very much alive,” he said quietly.

“For now,” I said, my voice the barest whisper.  “It’s fairly common for things to look like they’re progressing normally, and then the baby ends up stillborn.  No one knows why.”  I banged my head backwards against the wall in frustration.  My amnio had come up clean every time they tested it, but until the baby was born, you just couldn’t be sure.

“Everything will be fine,” he said.

I didn’t argue with him.  There was no point.  I wasn’t going to be satisfied that this child was fine until he graduated from college.  We sat there in silence for a long while, Richard’s hand resting on my stomach.  Somehow we had reached a sort of truce.  Very adult of us; one upping each other with our pain until we were forced to declare a draw.

Eventually, Richard looked up and I met his eyes.  “How are you?” he asked.

I shrugged.  “Tired,” I said.  “Junior here hasn’t let me get a decent night’s sleep for the last two months.  I just want this over.  The anticipation and the discomfort are driving me insane.”

Richard nodded.  His face tightened for just a moment and then he asked, “And Jean-Claude?”

I stared at him for several heartbeats and then laughed.  That seemed to unsettle Richard quite a bit.

“I hear you moved into The Circus,” he said, confused.

“Yeah.”

“Well?”

“If I’m scared, Richard, then Jean-Claude is absolutely terrified,” I said.

Richard frowned.  “I thought he would be elated,” he said.  There was more than a twinge of bitterness to his voice.  This baby was Jean-Claude’s decisive win in their battle for my affections.  Giving birth to someone’s child is a hell of a way of saying you’re an item.

“The possibility that this child could be anything from a revenant to stillborn to normal and no one knows until he’s actually born tends to put a damper on things,” I said.

Richard sighed and seemed to collapse a little bit, as if his rage had been the only thing giving him substance.  Somehow the fact that Jean-Claude was justifiably terrified appeased Richard’s rage.  Maybe it was just empathy.  If it had been Richard’s child I was carrying, he would have been terrified as well - terrified that I was going to give birth to a baby werewolf.  Hereditary lycanthopy is rare, but it does exist.  Richard abhors his beast.  I didn’t think he could ever accept a child of his that shared his affliction.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, and I knew that he didn’t just mean for making me cry.

I touched his cheek lightly and made him meet my gaze.  “I’ll always love you, Richard,” I said.

Tears glistened in his eyes and he leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to my lips.  We were bound together for eternity.  I had thought we were bound to hurt each other.  We were still in pain, but this was a definite improvement.

He took a deep breath and straightened up.  “So, Ronnie is going to be with you when the baby is born?” he asked.

Ronnie, my best friend, was dating Louie, his best friend.  I had no doubts where his information was coming from.  “Yes.”

He looked at me somewhat quizzically.

“What?” I asked.

He shrugged.  “I don’t know, I just thought that Jean-Claude, or maybe even Cherry would be with you.”

It’s a very long story, but I’m the alpha for the local pack of wereleopards, their Nimir-Ra.  Cherry is one of the leopards under my care, she’s also a nurse and a damn good one.  Or at least she was until her employers found out she was a lycanthrope.  She was the victim of prejudice in the guise of budget cuts.

I frowned.  “There’s a lot of blood when a baby is born.  Call me crazy, but I don’t really want a vampire or a wereleopard around.”

Richard smiled and it made my heart ache.  It had been months since I’d seen him look at me like that.  I watched as he stood up.  He offered me a hand which I gratefully accepted.  Once upon a time I would have insisted on doing it myself.  That was thirty pounds ago.

*****   
“What?” I asked, glaring at Larry.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” he said, looking me up and down.

It was nine o’clock in the morning and the doctors wouldn’t let me have any caffeine because of the baby.  It wasn’t a good time for him to get lippy with me.  “Get off it, Larry.  I’m a big girl, I can take care of myself.”

“It’s the big girl part that I’m worried about,” he said wryly.

For the second time in two days, my hands ached for the Browning.  I’m not saying I would have shot Larry, but I really would have like to have had the option available.

“Dolph requested me specifically,” I said, grinding my teeth.  Rudolph “Dolph” Storr was the head of RPIT, a police task force that I had assisted with a lot until recently.  Due to my “delicate” condition, Larry had been filling in for me.  Larry was good, but he wasn’t me.  Something big was up and Dolph wanted my opinion.  I wasn’t going to let him down.

Larry let out a long suffering sigh.  I tend to have that affect on people.  “I’m not trying to steal your job, Anita,” he said.  “Dolph requested you, but he hasn’t seen you in two months.  If he realized just how pregnant you are right now, I don’t think he would have asked.”

“Dolph’s married, Larry.  He has three kids.  He knows what a pregnant woman looks like.”  Okay, so it wasn’t precisely true.  Dolph tended to treat me like one of the guys most of the time.  I would have bet the farm that he wouldn’t have let his wife anywhere near a crime scene when she was thirty-seven weeks pregnant.

Larry shrugged and I knew I had won.  We walked over to my Jeep and I handed him the keys.  We could have taken his car, but Larry drove a sporty little Mazda.  I could have gotten in, but I wasn’t sure I could have gotten out again.

We drove to the crime scene in relative silence.  Anybody else and I would have busted their chops for trying to keep me safe.  With Larry I sort of had it coming.  I’d done my best to protect him when he started working for Animators Inc.  Turnabout was fair play.  Also, Larry was one of the few people who knew my whole story without being a part of it.  He knew about Richard and Jean-Claude.  He knew about the Triumverate.  He knew about the baby's paternity.  Not many people did.

I wasn’t sure what Dolph, Zebrowski and the rest of the RPIT team thought of my pregnancy.  I didn’t ask.  I guessed that they thought the baby was Richard’s.  They saw me with him enough times.  They knew we were dating.  They used to give me hell about it, even after I told them we had broken up.  They stopped joking when I started showing.  I guess they thought that Richard got me pregnant and dumped me.  I felt sort of guilty letting him take the blame for that one.  Richard really was an overgrown Boy Scout.  He never would have deserted me.  Of course, telling Dolph that the baby was Jean-Claude’s definitely wasn’t in the cards.  Dolph was a by the book sort of guy.  Sleeping with the walking dead, bearing their children, was not by the book.  Not so long ago, I would have agreed with him completely.  But Dolph was also unaware that Richard was a werewolf.  Lycanthopy is a disease, vampirism is a lifestyle.  Somehow I’m not sure Dolph would have seen much difference.  A monster is a monster.  I wasn’t sure our friendship could have survived a full disclosure about my love life.

Was I living a lie?  Probably.  My own family didn’t even know about my pregnancy.  Pretty close family, huh?  I hadn’t seen any of them in over a year.  My father and Judith were devout Catholics.  The Church ex-communicated all vampires, as well as animators.  I had no doubts about where The Church stood on the subject of my baby.  I just couldn’t see the wisdom in giving my father a heart attack until I found out if the baby was going to be all right.  If my son was fine, then it was coronary city, but until then, I was keeping a low profile.

Dolph was waiting outside with Detective Reynolds when we arrived.  Tammy Reynolds was a witch, the first one ever hired specifically for her preternatural abilities.  She was quite the asset to the RPIT task force.  She was also Larry’s girlfriend.  I tried not to hold that against him.

Larry parked the Jeep in front of the anonymous suburban house.  The look on Dolph’s face made me second guess my insistence on coming.  Dolph had seen a lot and anything that could make him look that grim had to be bad.  I crawled out of the Jeep as gracefully as possible, which wasn’t much.  I caught his gaze as I walked up the driveway.  Larry was right.  If Dolph had realized just how close to delivering I was, he wouldn’t have called me in.  Oh well, too late.

“You sure you’re up to this?” Dolph asked.

“How bad is it?” I countered.

“Bad,” he said.  I knew that was all I was going to get out of him.  Dolph hated to influence people’s perceptions.  If I hadn’t looked the way I did, he probably would have let me walk in there completely cold.

“I can do it,” I said.

Dolph stepped aside and motioned for me to walk ahead of him.  I did, but I wasn’t happy about it.  I got the distinct impression I didn’t want to go inside that house.

I was usually the last person to view the scene.  There were other cops milling around and EMTs waiting to dispose of the body once we were done.  The sooner I took a look, the sooner everyone could go home.  I took a deep breath and opened the front door.

There were a bunch of uniformed cops standing around.  They all straightened up the minute they saw Dolph.  He had that affect on people.  He was built like a pro-wrestler and he didn’t take shit from anybody.

“Down the hall, first room on the left,” Dolph said.

I swallowed hard enough for it to hurt, but I kept walking.  I was wearing all black, a loose knit top and a pair of drawstring cotton pants.  Usually when I worked a scene, I wore coveralls, but looking the way I did, I couldn’t find any coveralls that would fit.  I’d just have to try and stay out of the blood.  Sometimes that was a lot easier said than done.

The room was white, which didn’t help.  White walls, white ceiling, white carpet.  The bedding had all originally been white.  There was blood everywhere, on the walls, the ceiling.  The bedding was saturated.  The smell made me nauseas, but I swallowed it back.  I could do this.

The body, or what was left of it was still on the bed.  It was tied spread eagle.  Dolph handed me a handkerchief and I took it without comment, pressing it over my mouth.  I tried to be professional about it.  I needed to look for clues.  I needed to figure out what had happened here.  I needed to not vomit on the crime scene.

The body had been torn apart by something.  The wounds were clean, like they’d been sliced by claws.  I’d seen a body torn apart by bare hands before.  It wasn’t anywhere near this neat.  Never underestimate how much of a mess a flesh eating zombie can make.  But zombies didn’t do this.  Lycanthropes did.  Something with big nasty claws.  Most of them have those, although I met a wereswan once.  He’d been the exception, rather than the rule, and he’d made up for his lack of physical prowess by being one twisted fuck – or duck.  I had his skin framed and hanging in my living room.  Richard hated it.

Lycanthrope attack, definitely, though it was impossible to tell what variety.  A werewolf’s claw marks were indistinguishable from a weretiger’s, though werewolves were much more common.  I worked my way up the body and I was doing fine until I made it to the face.  The victim’s hair was obscuring most of his facial features.  He was nude, so I already knew it was male.  It was the hair that got me.  At first I just though it had been saturated with blood, but I realized it was dry.  The victim had hair like mahogany, rich and auburn that wrapped around his body, falling below his waist, hair women would kill for.  There was only one person I knew with hair like that.  I stepped back so fast I almost landed on my butt.  Dolph grabbed my arm and steadied me.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

I took a deep breath.  Mistake.  Blood is bad enough by itself, but when you think it’s the blood of someone you know, it’s worse.  “T-turn him over,” I stuttered.

Dolph gave me a look like he was considering throwing me out, but he didn’t.  He motioned to the EMTs and they cut the ropes and rolled the victim onto his back.  Lavender eyes stared blankly at the ceiling.

I lost it.  I leaned forward, falling on my hands and knees.  I vomited until my stomach was empty, and then I kept dry heaving.  Dolph tried to help me to my feet, but I couldn’t stand by myself.  I slumped back to the floor sobbing hysterically.  This time it didn’t have anything to do with hormones.  Nathaniel was my responsibility, mine to look after and protect.  He was lying in a pool of his own blood, his body violated almost beyond comprehension.  It was more than I could take.  I started screaming and couldn’t stop.  He was a baby, barely nineteen.  I let this happen to him.

Dolph handed me over to the EMTs, they took me out to the ambulance.  They tried to give me a sedative, but I refused.  Any kind of drugs were bad for pregnancies like mine.  I couldn’t stop shaking or crying.  At least I wasn’t screaming anymore, but I couldn’t calm down.  Nathaniel was a pet, even lower than an S&M slave.  He couldn’t be trusted to take care of himself.  He had to be looked after.  I paid for his apartment.  I looked after him.  He was a wereleopard and I was his alpha, his Nimir-Ra, his animal mother.  I failed him miserably.

I cried out soundlessly, as if screaming could somehow bring him back.  Larry tried to comfort me and I pushed him away.  A tightness spread across my lower back, dull and aching.  I didn’t notice it at first, but it became stronger and stronger until it culminated in a sharp pain that seemed to encompass my entire body.  I gasped, my body convulsing slightly.  The EMTs ushered Larry out of the ambulance.  I was going into labor. One of them got behind the wheel and switched on the siren, heading for Mercy hospital while the other hooked me up to a heart monitor.   The one riding in back with me, a woman in her middle thirties, tried once again to administer a sedative.  I shook my head vehemently. She tried to reason with me.

“I can’t,” I said firmly.

“It will help, I promise,” she said as I groaned in agony from another contraction.

“No,” I gasped, as soon as the pain passed.  “It could be a Vlads baby.”

The woman looked at me, needle in hand.  Her expression melted into one of pity and she put the needle down.  “All right,” she said.  “All right.”

*****   
Larry and Dolph were already at Mercy Hospital when we arrived.  I didn’t ask them how they managed to beat us there.  I really didn’t want to know.  I was Larry’s mentor.  I’d already failed Nathaniel today.  I didn’t think I could stand the thought of Larry being hurt because of me.

They wheeled me into one of the birthing rooms on the isolation wing.  I sent Larry to call Ronnie.  Dolph sat there and held my hand.  His expression was guarded, but I could feel the anger boiling underneath.  Women in labor weren’t regularly sent to the isolation wing.  He was a detective, and a damn good one.  He knew something was up, but for now he was keeping quiet.  I had a feeling once I was out of the hospital we’d have a real nice go-round about this.

Before long, my obstetrician showed up and ushered Dolph and Larry out into the waiting room.  According to her, things were progressing normally.  She didn’t try to stop the contractions.  She didn’t think the fact that I was a few weeks early was going to be a problem.  I personally didn’t feel very reassured.  Ronnie finally showed up and when she walked in, I got a glimpse of Richard hovering in the doorway.  How nice, my ex-fiancé was in the waiting room.  It was eleven o’clock in the morning, so there was no way Jean-Claude could be there.  I was actually rather upset about that.  They couldn’t give me drugs because of the baby. Normally I would have refused painkillers, but normally I’m not trying to push another human being out of my body.  At the moment, drugs sounded like a really good idea.  If Jean-Claude had been there, he could have helped.  Usually, he can’t hold me with his eyes, vampire tricks don’t work on me now that I’m his human servant.  But they can if I cooperate.  I would have been so cooperative.

The doctor came in to check on me about every twenty minutes and said things were coming right along.  Sure they were, bitch.  If I could have gotten of that bed, I would have strangled her.  I had never been in so much pain in my entire life, and for me that was saying something.  Ronnie kept trying to get me to do my breathing, but mostly I just cursed and yelled.

Around one o’clock, the doctor said that I was fully dilated.  They wanted me to push.  I did.  I pushed and pushed and pushed until all I could do was lay there and cry.  Ronnie tried to be supportive, but I could see the fear on her face.  The doctor hid hers better, but I could still tell.  They told me to try and get a little rest, that they would be back in a while and we would try again.  Were these people insane?  Like I was going to take a little nap while my body was convulsing so hard it felt like I was going to snap in two?

I lay there and wondered if God was punishing me.  I believe in God.  I really do.  I’m just not sure he believes in me.  Was I being punished for failing Nathaniel?  Had I been tested and found too lacking to be a parent?  My mind ran through every horrible scenario possible.  Tests showed that the baby was fine, but honestly we just didn’t know.  Vlads was usually an all or nothing sort of birth defect, it didn’t afflict children in small ways.  Blindness, deafness, stillbirth, these were ways Vlads manifested.  The worst of all was a revenant birth, one where the child was born a vampire, little more than a mindless cannibal.  To my knowledge, that had only happened once, born to a vampire mother.  Still, I couldn’t deny the possibility that it could happen to me.

I didn’t sleep and I didn’t feel any more rested when they wanted me to try again.  It was useless.  The doctor looked so nervous that I almost started crying again.  They were going to have to do an emergency cesarean, which meant I was finally going to get my drugs, but it also meant they had to hurry.  Before I knew what was happening, the room was in chaos.  They wheeled in a tray of really nasty looking implements.  They gave me an epidural so I couldn’t feel anything and put this nice little curtain over my chest so I couldn’t see what they were doing.  Call me cautious, but having the entire lower half of my body deadened by someone with a large knife and then being told I couldn’t look was not reassuring.  Ronnie, however, was more trusting.  She wouldn’t let me move the curtain.

I could feel pressure, but I didn’t really have any sense of what they were doing.  When the doctor moved just right, I could see her face.  Her expression was one of pure concentration and her white latex gloves were covered with my blood.

“Here we go,” she said and I felt his tremendous release of pressure.

The room was absolutely silent.  I could almost hear my heart breaking.  I turned and looked at Ronnie, but she was looking at the doctor.  There were tears in her eyes.  I opened my mouth to speak and the silence was split by a very loud, very unhappy wail.

“It’s a boy,” the doctor said.  She held up this squirming, gory mass towards me so I could see him and he was the most beautiful thing in the world.

He was crying and I held my hands out and she set him on my chest.  I didn’t care if he was bloody and slimy, I cuddled him next to me and kissed him.  He stopped crying and looked at me.  I started crying.  Ronnie started crying.  I think maybe even the doctor started crying.  I ran my shaking hands over his little body.  Ten fingers, ten toes, two eyes, one nose, one mouth.  I took inventory over and over again, but I couldn’t find anything wrong.  I cried even harder.

“We need to clean him up and run some tests,” the doctor said, adding, “and we need to close.”

These were some good drugs.  I had completely forgotten there was a gaping hole in my abdomen.  More than a little reluctantly, I let the nurse take him.  They put him on a little table under a big light and measured and weighed him.  He cried when they pricked his little feet.  They cleaned him off and wrapped him up in three layers of blankets.  They put a little blue cap on his head and finally handed him back to me.  The doctor was still stitching me up, but I held him.  I wasn’t giving him up for anything.

Ronnie kissed me on the cheek and ran her finger over his brow.  He had a mass of downy black hair and his eyes were midnight blue.  All babies have blue eyes when they’re born, but I knew his would never change color.

“What’s his name?” she asked.

“Phillip,” I said, still crying.  “Phillip Julian Blake.”

It was almost an hour later when they wheeled me into a private room, all stitched up and floating on a combination of a natural high and drugs.  Phillip was clutched tightly against my chest sleeping.  Ronnie stayed right with us.  She was there when the doctor came back to see us.

“The tests are clear, he’s fine,” she said with a smile that couldn’t have been faked.

I couldn’t talk.  I just leaned down and kissed his little head.  Vlads could cause problems later, like learning disabilities, but that was very rare.  For now, we were safe.

The doctor ran a finger over the back of his tiny hand and smiled again.  “He had us all worried about the wrong thing,” she said lightly.  “Our problem was just that he’s a big boy.”

I laughed.  Of all the things working against Phillip, no one had ever dreamed it would be his size.  With a mother who had a tendency to have hits taken out on her life and a father who had been dead for four centuries, we had all been looking for the obvious problems.  Even the doctors hadn’t been worried about his size.  I’m small, five three and usually a hundred and six pounds.  Jean-Claude is five ten and built like a cat, lean, slender and graceful.  Phillip weighed in at ten pounds, two ounces.  He was huge for a newborn, but not abnormally so – at least that’s what the doctors told me.  Apparently it would have been nothing short of a miracle if I could have delivered him without a caesarian.  I felt a little better.

Eventually, Ronnie left so I could have a different visitor.  Richard was very cautious when he walked in, like he was afraid I was going to lash out.  Between the surgery, the drugs and the baby, I wasn’t doing anything.

“Hi,” he said, taking the chair next to my bed that Ronnie recently vacated.

“Hey.”

He fidgeted nervously and then laughed.  “It’s a zoo out there if you know what you’re looking for,” he said.

“Who?” I asked.

“Everyone,” he replied, then corrected himself, “at least everyone who doesn’t have to wait until full dark to rise.”

I frowned, but let it go.  I was happy enough to allow him a little pettiness.  “Lukoi?”

He nodded.  “Most of the pack is here.  Of course Jason and all of the wereleopards.  Monica is out there.”

I grimaced.  Richard laughed.  He leaned in closer and looked at Phillip.  Babies are designed to be cute.  Seriously.  It’s a survival technique.  Being cute encourages adults to protect them.  Richard was a born protector and Phillip was cute as a bug.  Richard used the tip of his finger to brush along Phillip’s little fist.  The baby yawned and instinctively grabbed on to Richard’s finger.

“Can I?” Richard asked.

I took a deep breath, not wanting to say it out loud.

Richard nodded and gave me a knowing look.  “After Jean-Claude sees him, can I hold him?”

I smiled.  “Of course,” I said.  And I meant it.

He kissed me on the forehead and stood up.  “How many more visitors do you think you can stand?” he asked.

“Why?”

“Because Zane is driving everyone nuts.”

I sighed.  Zane was one of my wereleopards.  Imagine Tigger on crack and dressed for an S&M dungeon and you get some idea of what he was like.  I really wasn’t in the mood, but Zane needed a lot of guidance and reassurance.  After what happened with Nathaniel, I couldn’t turn him away.

“Send him in,” I said.

Zane was twitchier than usual, deeply upset about Nathaniel.  I avoided reminding him about the time I’d had to shoot him to keep him from killing Nathaniel.  I let him nuzzle into my hand and it seemed to help.  Touch is very important to him.  He kept trying to sniff Phillip, but I wasn’t having any of that.  I was alpha and my word was law.  I had my limits.  Nobody was sniffing my baby.

Larry was next.  He was much more sedate.  No sniffing.  I let him touch Phillip.

“Wow,” he said.

“Yeah,” I replied.  I wanted to be somewhat more suave than that, but I couldn’t.  I kept wanting to say things like golly every time I looked at Phillip.

“Is Dolph ...?” I asked.

“Gone,” Larry said.  “He got called away, so he missed the menagerie that’s in the waiting room right now.”

I sighed in relief and then grimaced.

“What’s wrong?” Larry asked.

“My pain medication is wearing off,” I replied.

Against my wishes, Larry went to find the nurse.  I hate pain medication, but if any situation ever called for it, I would say this was it.  Besides, if anything wanted to get me, they would have to go through my personal army of bodyguards to do it.  I felt safe enough.  Ronnie came back in and the nurse showed up with the drugs.

I didn’t remember dozing off, but apparently I did.  I woke in terror.  I reached for Phillip and he wasn’t there.  I looked around the room frantically and felt relief like I have never known.

Jean-Claude looked at me, smiling so wide you could see fang.  It took quite a bit to make him forget himself like that.  I watched as he turned back to Phillip.  Babies, especially newborns don’t open their eyes much, but he was there, blinking owlishly at his father, one long white finger clutched tightly in his little pink fist.  Jean-Claude was grinning like an idiot.

“Merci, ma petite, Je t’aime.”

“I love you too,” I said.  “You should have woken me.”

He frowned at me.  “With my marks, you heal faster, but you still need your rest.  Besides, I wanted to hold my son.”

I couldn’t really argue with that, so I didn’t.  I watched Jean-Claude hold our baby.  Vampires are creatures built for inflicting pain.  They can bench press Toyotas.  But when they’re aware of their strength, they can be unbelievably gentle.  Jean-Claude was holding his son like he was made of spun sugar.

“He looks just like you,” I said, somewhat miffed.

“Indeed,” Jean-Claude replied, grinning unabashedly.

I watched as he scooted his chair as close as possible to my bed.  He put the baby down on my chest and we both lay there looking at our infant.  Jean-Claude’s head rested on the pillow next to mine, our hands touching as we held our son.

“Did you name him, ma petite?”

I moved my head enough to look in his eyes.  We were so close.  How long had it been since we had been this close and this unguarded?

“Yes,” I said.  “Phillip Julian Blake.”

Jean-Claude took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  “Named after our sins?” he asked.

“No,” I said.  “He’s our second chance.  I couldn’t protect Phillip and you couldn’t protect Julianna.  This time we won’t fail.”

“No, ma petite.  This time we will not fail.”  The hard determination in his voice reassured me.

I moved, trying to get close to Jean-Claude and he quickly obliged me, wrapping his arms around me and Phillip.  I did love him.  I didn’t believe that love conquered all.  I was still a vampire executioner who had a child from the local master vampire.  The fact that we loved each other didn’t make that go away.  But it did make it easier.

“Sleep, ma petite,” he said.

And I did.

[End Mercy]


	2. Devotion

Oh God.  I was crying again.  I thought after Phillip was born that this hormonal stuff would go away.  So far it wasn’t.  Or maybe I was just turning into a softie.  Nope, I was betting on hormones.  I’m fairly sure I’d become a complete sociopath before I voluntarily watch anything on Lifetime.

I sat on my white couch, complete with colorful pillows ala Jean-Claude and looked at the box in my lap.  It was from Edward.  He’s given me a lot of really wonderful toys, my favorite being a Mini-Uzi.  This present, however, was completely unexpected.  It was a mobile for Phillip’s crib.  It was beautiful.  Tiny little penguins ice skated around one another.  It was delicate and fine and I was totally unprepared for it, given Edward’s violent distaste for the father of my child.

“Ma petite?”

I looked at Jean-Claude with tears streaming down my face.  Defiantly, I wiped them away with the backs of my hands.  “I’m fine,” I said firmly.

He smiled and returned his attention to Phillip.  They were both laying on the floor on my beautiful Persian carpet, another present from the father of my child.  Jean-Claude was making an attempt to play with the baby, but mostly they were just watching each other.  If it had been any other vampire, I wouldn’t have allowed it.  Master vampires can roll you with their eyes, use a kind of hypnosis that leaves you completely vulnerable to their suggestions.  Of course, I was fairly sure you had to have some sense of self for that to work.  I had my doubts about someone who couldn’t sit up by themselves being too terribly sentient.  Still, Phillip lay there, cuddled in his father’s arms, and met his gaze, blinking slowly like a tired little kitten.

As a rule, babies don’t do that.  I’d spent enough time sitting in pediatricians’ offices in the last six weeks to know that most children Phillip’s age eat, cry, poop, sleep and squirm.  Not a lot else.  Most of the time, that’s what Phillips did as well, but when Jean-Claude was around, he was different.  It was like they were listening to music I couldn’t hear.  Bully for them.  Me jealous?  Never.

Asher sat down on the sofa next to me and I let him take the box.  Very carefully, he placed it on the end table, like he knew how much it meant to me.  He stretched his arm out on the back of the couch.  I sighed and leaned into him, resting my head against his chest, my hand against his heart.  He was warm and his heart thudded under my hand.  He placed a gentle kiss on the top of my head.

I can’t really explain my relationship with Asher.  Mostly, it’s based on a shared past we don’t actually have, but it’s more than that as well.  Asher is a beautiful man, with blue eyes so pale they’re almost white and hair like spun gold, rich and metallic and begging to be touched.  Sometimes my body gets tight and hot just looking at him.  But a couple hundred years ago, some religious fanatics tried to burn the vampirism out of him.  As a result, he is badly scarred, his face, his chest, his legs.  Large parts of his skin look like melted candle wax.  It doesn’t bother me.  I have scars as well and besides, I’m a hair and eyes kinda girl and he has those in spades.

When we first met, Asher wanted me to be horrified by his body.  He wanted to terrify and hurt me; in return hurting Jean-Claude.  Asher blamed Jean-Claude for the death of his human servant (and their shared lover), Julianna.  But I wasn’t terrified by Asher.  More than anything I was overwhelmed by his pain.  Looking at him, I felt nothing but regret and the desire to comfort.  Initially, those emotions were Jean-Claude’s not mine.  He marked me and as a result, our emotions bleed over one another.  Now, I wasn’t so sure whose feelings were whose.  I knew my affection for Asher was rooted in Jean-Claude’s love for him, but more than a little of it was my own.

For what it’s worth, after I refused to reject him, Asher and Jean-Claude reconciled.  Asher was now second banana in St. Louis, Jean-Claude’s vampire lieutenant.  Asher could have been a master vampire of his own territory, but he chose to stay close.  I trusted Asher.  He was the only vampire I knew who had ever chosen comfort over power.

Asher and I watched Jean-Claude and Phillip.  “You have given him something he never thought to have, Anita,” Asher said.

I snorted.  “Yeah,” I said, “I bet he never thought he was going to be changing diapers.”

Jean-Claude turned and gave me a displeased look, like he was some street hood and I was ruining his street cred.  Too bad.  I’m about equality and I didn’t give a shit if Jean-Claude had been raised in a time where children were solely a woman’s responsibility.  He changed dirty diapers or he didn’t get to see his son.  No one could accuse me of being a push over.

Asher laughed lightly and it rumbled in my ear, rich and warm with a texture you wanted to reach out and wrap yourself in.  “Yes, there is that,” he said, “but I meant something a bit more intangible.”

I pushed myself into a sitting position and looked at him.  “Like what?”  I was truly curious.  Jean-Claude and Asher were so similar at times.  If anyone knew what my lover was really thinking, it was Asher.

Asher’s lips pressed into a wry smile.  “Humanity, Anita.  You have given mon amour back a part of his humanity.”

Jean-Claude didn’t look at us.  I, personally, was shocked by his lack of reaction.  We were having a conversation about him like he wasn’t even there.  It would have pissed me off.  But maybe Asher was right.  Maybe Jean-Claude just couldn’t tell me himself what Phillip meant to him.  Maybe that was between him and Phillip.

Jean-Claude rolled over onto his back, bringing the baby with him and settling him against his chest.  As a rule, Phillip doesn’t like to be cuddled by anyone other than his parents.  He didn’t protest the move.  They both looked at me, or rather Jean-Claude looked at me and Phillip’s head was turned in my general direction as he chewed on his little pink fist.  It was an amazing sight.  Jean-Claude’s long, curling black hair fanned out over the colorful carpet, his midnight blue eyes boring into me.  He was wearing one of his high collared shirts.  It was black silk and accentuated the alabaster quality of his skin.  Phillip lay on his chest, clothed in a velveteen jumper, the same midnight blue as his beautiful, big eyes.

I can’t honestly imagine Jean-Claude buying baby clothes, but he did.  Personally, I didn’t want to know where he got them.  I’d warned him that my son was not wearing any leather until he was old enough to drive.  Jean-Claude merely laughed at me.  The next day, I found this tiny and surprisingly tasteful little leather jacket hanging in my closet.

The sight of them together made my heart ache.  Phillip’s hair is a downy black mass that promises to be as curly as his parents’ one day.  I looked at my son day in and day out, trying to find some reflection of myself.  I couldn’t.  He was all Jean-Claude.  Aside from the size difference – the doctor’s assured me that barring accident or severe malnutrition, Phillip would top out at somewhere around six-four – they were so alike.  Of course, Phillip can play in the sun at high noon.  Jean-Claude can’t do that.  Maybe there is some of me in him.

“Did he?” I asked Jean-Claude.

“Give me back my humanity?” he asked, holding out a finger which Phillip immediately latched on to and started to gum.

“Yes,” I said.

I sat up straighter on the couch.  When Phillip sucked on your fingers like that, it meant he was hungry.  I hadn’t really given much though to breast feeding until I was jumped by the lactation consultant at Mercy.  I was still feeling so guilty about Nathaniel, and she went on and on about how good it is for their little brains.  I wanted to give Phillip the best didn’t I?  So now I was breastfeeding, though I didn’t go to La Leche League meetings anymore.  Once was enough.  I dealt with monsters every second of the day, and those women scared the shit out of me.  So now I was Anita Blake, Vampire Executioner, Animator, breastfeeding mother.  What could I say?  It beat the hell out of having to get up in the middle of the night and warm up a bottle.  When I finally went back to work, it might be a different story.  Breast pumps scare me.

Jean-Claude sat up, like a puppet pulled by strings.  He gave Phillip to me.  I put my hand under my shirt, opened the cup on my maternity bra and snuggled the baby close.  The hem of my polo shirt rested against his cheek.  Phillip latched on immediately, greedily sucking.  I was getting good at this.  I could breast feed in a room full of people and not flash anyone.  Maybe there was hope for me yet.  Riiight.

Jean-Claude watched his son.  “Yes,” he said quietly.  “I never though to be a part of it again.”

“Part of it?” I parroted, frowning.

“Life, ma petite,” he explained.  “I feed off of it, but I do not participate.  I never dreamed that I would be able to contribute to humanity.”

“Oh.”  So I’m not eloquent.  Sue me.

Silence descended until all you could hear were Phillip’s suckling noises.  Jean-Claude watched me so intently that I had to look away, blushing.  Asher met my gaze, unembarrassed.  He didn’t seem to think anything was odd in watching his former lover’s new lover breastfeed their child.  Maybe that wasn’t it.  Jean-Claude was Master.  Asher probably just went along with anything he did.  If I kept telling myself that, maybe one day I would start to believe it.

Phillip’s suckling slowed and I glanced back to Jean-Claude.  He was still sitting on the floor, propped gracefully on one arm as he watched me.  I couldn’t help but notice how nicely his leather pants molded to his long, slender legs.

He took a deep breath and looked at me.  His eyes darkened perceptibly.  His gaze flicked to Asher.  There was no communication that I could discern, but Asher rose from the couch and left the room, headed for my basement.  Zane was down there, along with Cherry.  My constant guardians.  Damian and a couple of Jean-Claude’s fanged muscle were outside watching the house.  We weren’t alone, but we were alone enough.

Jean-Claude rose to his feet as gracefully as he did everything else.  He held a hand out to me.  “Ma petite?”

Phillip was asleep.  I carefully pulled him away and snapped the cup on my bra closed.  My hands were shaking.  I let Jean-Claude help me up as I cradled Phillip in the crook of my arm.  Hand in hand, we walked down the hall to my bedroom.  There was a crib against the wall near my bed.  Phillip had never spent a night in it.  He only used it for naps.  At night, he slept with me.  Carefully, I put him down in the crib.

Jean-Claude was standing behind me, so close that the front of his thighs brushed against me.  My breathing was fast, almost ragged.  He leaned forward and pulled the light blanket over his son’s sleeping body, gently running his hand over the tiny little head.  His free arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me back against his body.  I relaxed against him, resting the back of my head against his shoulder.  His other arm joined the first, enveloping me in a hug and he held me close, his breath tickling warmly against my ear.

“You saw your physician this week?” he asked, though I knew he already knew the answer.

I licked my lips.  “Yes,” I answered.

“And you are ... well?” he asked.

He was excited. I could feel the length of him hardening against the small of my back.  I shivered.  “She said I could resume marital relations,” I said.

He chuckled, his voice and ever so sensual against my skin.  “You are not married, ma petite,” he breathed.

I twisted in his grip until we pressed together, front to front.  I pulled his head down, attacking his lips with my own.  I didn’t want to talk about marriage.  We’d never spoken of it before.  He’d never proposed, though I expected it was mostly because he knew I would say ‘no’.  Good little former Catholic or not, I was not marrying the father of my child.  He was a vampire.  I was a vampire executioner.  My hypocrisy knew some bounds.

His mouth opened against mine and I pressed my tongue between his lips, exploring his taste.  In the last year I’d gotten damn good at French kissing my French vampire.  He let out a low moan and twined his fingers through my hair, pulling me closer.  I was on tiptoe, pressed as tightly against him as I could get, my fingers dug into his shoulders.

God, I’d forgotten this.  I’d forgotten how much I loved the taste and texture of his body, how much I craved the silken feel of his skin against mine.  It had been months since we’d done this, long before Phillip was born.  I let out a moan of my own and blindly unbuttoned his shirt.  He helped and soon it was on the floor in a pool.

I pulled back, breaking the kiss and taking a deep breath.  Our eyes met and his were solid midnight blue.  His mouth was open slightly and he panted.  I grinned at him the way a cat grins at a wounded bird.  He didn’t run.  I leaned forward, attacking his chest with my lips, teeth and tongue.  I pulled his taut flesh between my teeth and worried his perfect skin. I laved the cross shaped scar on his chest with my tongue.  He gasped, using his hand on the back of my head to hold me against him.  I suckled and bit and licked until he was trembling against me.  I was trembling too.  Lust is a wonderful thing.

I pulled away from him, taking half a step back.  He looked at me with dark eyes, waiting to see what I would do.  I touched his neck and he shuddered, his eyes never leaving mine.  I ran my hand down his chest, my fingernails digging in hard enough to leave marks, but not hard enough to break the skin.  He didn’t complain.  I traced down his midline, down his abs until I was gripping the top of his leather pants.

“Off,” I said.  I stepped away from him, backing up until my knees hit the bed.  I sat down and watched him.

He held my gaze as his hands reached for the fastenings on the pants, but I couldn’t return the favor.  My eyes wandered down his chest to follow the movements of his long, white fingers.  He popped the button.  The zipper hissed as he slid it down.  He wasn’t wearing anything underneath the leather.  I smiled.

He pushed the pants down his legs until they puddled on the floor and then stepped out of them.  He stood there, looking at me.  He was nude, erect and unashamed, presenting himself for my appraisal.  I sat there, fully dressed.  There was something powerful in the realization that the other person is defenseless while you’re still guarded.  Jean-Claude would never be defenseless, but it was still a seductive illusion.

Graceful as a cat, he walked over to me and knelt between my legs.  I was still slightly taller than him in this position.  I liked it.  His hands found my thighs and gripped them lightly through the denim jeans.  I pulled his head up for a kiss.  His hands wound around me until he gripped my hips.  I nipped at his lower lip, pulling the warm flesh between my teeth, I bit down lightly.  Chuckling warmly, he pulled back and smiled at me.  His hands slid up my sides, twisting in my shirt and pulling it over my head.  He did it so quickly that my hair fluttered down around my shoulders in a mass of unruly curls.  Lightly, he touched one of the curls, wrapping it around his finger.  Our  eyes met and he let the curl go.

“Lay back,” he said.

I took a deep breath and scooted further onto the bed.  I lay back, staring up at my ceiling.  His hands were on my thighs again, his fingers lightly biting into my flesh as he ran them up my legs to my waist.  I pressed my eyes shut.  I quit wearing a belt when I quit wearing a shoulder holster.  Hard to pack heat and hold an infant at the same time.  Also, it didn’t seem like a prudent idea.  So, there was no belt for Jean-Claude to remove as he unzipped my jeans and pulled them down my legs.

He was still kneeling on the floor.  I could feel the weight of him looking at me and I blushed in spite of myself.  I’ve never been comfortable being unclothed and at the moment my bra and panties seemed very insignificant.  His fingers touched me lightly, playing on the bare flesh of my thigh.

“You are so lovely, ma petite,” he whispered.  I could feel the heat of his breath against my skin.

I didn’t look at him, I couldn’t.  This was our first time together since Phillip’s birth.  I was his human servant, bound to him through three marks.  At times, that situation had its perks.  The skin of my abdomen was flawless.  As a human servant, I healed quickly and completely.  There was no unsightly scar from my cesarean.  Also, Jean-Claude had the ability to draw energy from me, to speed up my metabolism.  I’d dropped thirty pounds in six weeks.  Beat the hell out of starving myself.  Still, I didn’t look the way I had before Phillip.  I hated being semi-naked.  I hated being insecure more.

Jean-Claude crawled onto the bed, stalking up my body until he was crouched above me on his elbows and knees.  His hands caressed my face and he kissed me.  My eyes, my forehead, my nose, finally my lips.

“Look at me,” he said.

I opened my eyes and stared into his.  They were dark with desire so strong it made me gasp.  He kissed me, his tongue plundering my mouth, and I forgot all about being insecure.

*****   
I had been asleep in Jean-Claude’s arms, a decidedly rare occurrence.  I usually didn’t sleep with him, too afraid of waking up next to a cold corpse.  Phillip’s cries woke me up and I pushed myself up on my elbows.

“Non,” Jean-Claude whispered, putting his hand on my arm to prevent me from getting out of bed.

The bedside lamp was still on, suffusing the room with its dim light.  I lay back on the bed and watched as Jean-Claude climbed from the bed and padded gracefully over to the crib.  Phillip stopped wailing, but still fussed.  He wasn’t accustomed to his father picking him up in the middle of the night, or of being relegated to his crib.  He was not a happy baby.  Jean-Claude frowned, but returned to the bed and handed me my distraught son.

Phillip seemed much happier to see me.  I was already topless, so it didn’t take much before he was nursing.  Jean-Claude watched passively and then reached out to trace his son’s tiny brow with a fingertip.

“Mother is the name for God in the lips and hearts of little children,” he quoted softly.

I looked at him and he met my eyes passively.  I could find nothing there but wonder and affection.  I’d thought he would be jealous or irritated.  Maybe that was just me.  What a shock.  Me possessive?  Never.

Phillip was asleep again by the time he finished nursing.  You’re supposed to burp babies after they eat, but experience had taught me it was easier to let him sleep.  Burp him and he’d wake up enough that he’d decide to stay up.  Sleep it was.

Jean-Claude took the baby and settled him on his bare chest, gently running his fingers along Phillip’s downy head.  I watched him watch his son and something inside of me clicked.  Jean-Claude loved his son.  It sounds stupid to say that, of course he loved his son, but for the first time, I felt like I understood.

Jean-Claude loved power.  He told me once that he loved me as much as he was able.  Given that I added to his power base though, his love of me was easy to understand.  Phillip on the other hand, added nothing to his power.  Given who his parents were, it was possible that one day he could add to Jean-Claude’s power, but none of us knew that for sure.  At that moment, Phillip was more of a hindrance to Jean-Claude than anything.  He was something that others could use to hurt Jean-Claude.  But still, Jean-Claude loved him.  Completely.

I loved my son.  I knew that with a ferocity so strong that it left me breathless at times.  I have people who belong to me, the wereleopards, Jason, Damian, Stephen, Willy.  I would do anything to protect them or avenge them.  But even that paled in comparison to my devotion to my child.  I would move heaven and earth for him if necessary.  God have mercy on the creature stupid enough to harm my child because I sure as hell wouldn’t.  The realization that I wasn’t alone in my thinking was a little staggering.

Turning his head on the pillow, Jean-Claude looked at me.  “Ma petite?” he said gently, reaching out to stroke my cheek.  I stared at him blankly until his look changed from questioning to concerned.

“Anita?” he asked, propping himself up slightly while holding Phillip to his chest.

“You will protect him, won’t you?” I asked and for some reason, my voice was unsteady.  “If anything happens to me, you will?  Right?”

Very slowly, he nodded at me.  “With my life,” he said.

And I believed him absolutely.

[End Devotion]


	3. Confessional

I took a deep breath and checked my gun for the hundredth time before I opened the Jeep’s door and hopped down to the pavement.  It was hot, verging on sweltering.  It was only May and already summer was bearing down on St. Louis.  My hands were sweating, but somehow I didn’t think it was from the heat.

I looked at the building, blinking into the sun.  It was more of a warehouse than a traditional storefront.  The paint was chipping off of the aging brick facade making it look even more unsavory.  Not that it needed that.  A huge neon sign emblazoned with the words “Interrogation Room” buzzed noisily in the humid air. I have no idea why they left the sign on during the middle of the day.

Cop cars surrounded the place.  I dug out my ID and clipped it to the front of the short sleeved dress shirt I wore over my tanktop to camouflage my gun.  The Browning’s holster chaffed when I wore the tanktop, but it was too hot for anything more.  I was stopped twice before I made it to the door.  Rookies both times.  I’d been out of the loop for about five months.  I hadn’t thought that was a long time.  Maybe it was.  Most of the St. Louis cops knew me on sight.  I’m not saying the seasoned officers wouldn’t have stopped me, but they would have been quicker about it.  I helped the RPIT team on cases, but I wasn’t a cop.  They didn’t like to let me forget that.

I pulled open The Interrogation Room’s glass doors before the young policeman could do it for me.  I carry my own weight.  Let people carry it for you long enough in the name of politeness and they forget you’re capable.  I didn’t like anybody to forget that.  The doors were black, not tinted, but painted with a can of spray paint.  It went with the outside of the club.

The Interrogation Room was a club that catered to the wild side;  S&M, prostitution, D/s, and even more exotic tastes.  It was a haven for freaks of all persuasions, the kinkier, the better.  It was located in the Vampire District which was both appropriate and puzzling.  A large portion of the patrons were vampires and lycanthropes so I understood why it was located where it was, but at the same time, most of the clubs in the Vampire District catered to human tourism.  The Interrogation Room certainly didn’t do that.  It wasn’t a place for tourists of any kind.  If you went into the Interrogation Room, you went in to play, not to window shop.

I have excellent night vision, but it still took a few moments for my eyes to adjust to the dim lighting inside the club.  Dolph was standing on the dance floor, several yards away.  It was easy to pick him out of a crowd.  At six eight, he tended to tower over everyone else.  I checked my gun again and strode towards the little powwow.  Zebrowski was the first to notice me.  He looked me up and down and winked lasciviously.

“Nice to see ya got the figure back, Blake,” he said with a grin.

“Eat shit and die, Zebrowski,” I countered.  It wasn’t terribly witty, but effective nonetheless.

A few of the other detectives in the circle chuckled.  Dolph looked at both of us, his face cold and hard.  We sobered up real quick.

“You two done?” he asked.

We both nodded.

Dolph was pissed.  I was used to that.  This was a real nasty case he was working on and it had been going on long enough that it was becoming a real thorn in his side.  Dolph was a damn good detective.  This case had been active for the last three months and they kept finding new victims.  It would be enough to make anyone angry.  But I knew that wasn’t the only reason he was short with me.

Dolph had been there when I was wheeled into the isolation wing of Mercy Hospital for Phillip’s birth.  Dolph wasn’t stupid.  He had one of the most logical and persistent minds I had ever met.  He didn’t know the whole story, but I was betting he had some real good hunches.

The powwow broke up and Dolph walked me across the dance floor towards the back of the club.  At Guilty Pleasures, the strip club Jean-Claude owned down the block, the rooms at the back of the club were dressing rooms and offices.  For some reason, I knew the back rooms at The Interrogation Room would be used for something a bit more nefarious than costume changes and paperwork.  Of course, for all I knew the same could be true of Guilty Pleasures.  It probably was.  I had a don’t ask don’t tell policy where my lover’s business ventures were concerned.

Dolph was silent as we walked.  I’d half expected him to grill me, but he was escorting me to see the body.  Dolph hated to influence anyone’s opinion of a crime scene.  Having a fight with him in the middle of the club would have influenced my perceptions quite a bit.

A set of double doors led to a long hallway.  It was all bare cement, floors and walls.  The corridor was lined with doors and next to each of them, large windows.  I knew what they were.  One-way mirrors.  It was set up to mimic a police interrogation room.  I’m not into kink, but I’m around it a lot.  I would bet even money that the mirrors were there so people could get off while they watched a scenario play out inside the room.  Concrete is handy.  It’s easy to hose down at the end of the evening.  Only one of the doors was open.  I walked towards it.

The room was small with cinder block walls.  Everything was painted black.  Floor, ceiling, walls.  It reminded me of a dorm room for a particularly industrious goth.  The lights in the ceiling were black lights, so the cops had set up a few halogens.  They made the room hot.  A word to the wise, don’t intentionally warm up a room with a dead body in it if you can avoid it.  The stench was overpowering.  I knew without looking that the victim’s intestines and stomach had been ripped open.

“Tell me what you see,” Dolph said.

I steeled my nerves and went to work.  The initial glance stopped me in my tracks.  Deja vu really didn’t encompass what I felt when I looked at the scene.  The body was tied to the bed, face down and nude, spread eagle.  Claw marks.  The body had been torn apart by claws.

Nude.

Tied spread eagle.

Face down.

Claw marks.

Blindly, I turned and ran.  I roughly pushed past Dolph getting through the door.  I made it into the hallway before I lost everything.  Bully for me.  Zebrowski wasn’t there to see me leave my lunch all over the bare cement floor.

I couldn’t get the sight out of my mind.  Not of today’s scene but of one two months ago.  Nathaniel’s body violated and broken, tied to the bed frame.  His long hair twisting around his body, his lavender eyes staring at nothing.  His wrists hadn’t been abraded.  Like he hadn’t fought.  That meant two things, either he was confident that I was going to show up and save him, or he knew that I wasn’t.  Either way, it made me want to scream until they locked me away in a rubber room forever.

My failure.

Nathaniel was mine to protect, mine to heal and watch over.  I abandoned him.  I was too caught up in my own fears over Phillip to notice.  I let him die.  I let him be tortured to death.  I was a fraud, a disgrace.

“Anita.”  Dolph’s voice was still hard.

I stood up slowly enough that the world didn’t spin.  I met Dolph’s gaze with my own and it wasn’t pretty.  His expression was challenging, slightly arrogant.

“Why did you want me to see that body, Dolph?” I asked none too gently.  “It’s text book.  You know it was the same perp.  You didn’t need me to verify that.”

His eyes narrowed at me.  “What’s going on, Anita?” he asked.

“You’ve got some sick fuck who’s cutting up helpless little boys,” I said.  “He’s a lycanthrope, most likely a bigger werecat, maybe a weretiger or a werelion.  Hell, maybe even a witch, like that shapeshifter that got Zebrowski.”

Dolph stepped closer, getting into my personal space.  I had to look up to hold eye contact.  It pissed me off.  Dolph generally didn’t use his size to try and intimidate.

“How can you be sure?” he asked.  “Everyone knows that wererats and werewolves are much more common.  Why don’t you think one of them did it?” he asked.

I swallowed, but made myself hold his gaze.

“You’ve got a lot of secrets, Anita.  I want to know what they are,” he said.

“That’s none of your business,” I said as calmly as I could.

“I’m not in the mood, Anita.  Not today.  Not after all of this bullshit.  I want the truth.  That boy you knew, the one that died like this.  He tested positive for lycanthropy.  How did you know him?  How do you come by your secrets?”

He finally stepped back.  He watched me.  I didn’t move. I stood there perfectly still, staring at him.  He sighed and leaned back against the far wall.  He rubbed his hands over his face wearily.  Eventually, he lifted his head again and met my gaze.

“Tell me,” he said.  His voice was calm, tired, slightly pleading.

“I don’t want to lie to you, Dolph,” I said.

“Then don’t.”

I laughed.  Dolph frowned.  He tried a different approach.

“Why were you in the isolation wing at Mercy?” he asked.

All of my mirth vanished.  I stared at him.

“What aren’t you telling me about Richard Zeeman?”

I worked hard at learning how to perfect a blank face.  I used it now as I looked at Dolph.

“Don’t close up on me, Anita,” he said.  “Tell me.  Tell me what kind of lycanthrope Zeeman is and how you know so much about this case.”

“What does Richard have to do with my hospitalization?” I asked, my voice as blank as my face.

“Come off it, Anita,” Dolph countered.  “We know.  Everyone knows.  It’s a real horrible thing what he did to you, leaving you while you were pregnant.  I know you, Anita.  I know how much you hate the monsters.  Did Zeeman not tell you about his condition until it was too late?”

I wasn’t sure if I wanted to laugh or cry.  Dolph was so right and so wrong all at the same time.  I could still remember when I felt the same way as Dolph, when I saw lycanthropes and vampires as monsters.  Sometimes I missed that clarity.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said.

“Don’t I?” he asked.  “They don’t put you on the isolation wing unless they’re worried about contamination.  That means monsters.  You aren’t one.  You have to submit to regular blood tests in order to be allowed to help RPIT.  That leaves your boyfriend.   Zeeman sure as hell isn’t a vampire and faeries and demons are too rare.  I’m just being logical.”

I nodded.  “You are being logical,” I said, my voice absolutely serious.  “But you don’t have all the facts.  Richard isn’t Phillip’s father.  We were never lovers.”

It was Dolph’s turn to stare at me blankly.  I wasn’t about to tell him that he’d been absolutely right about Richard’s lycanthropy.  A lie of omission.  Ask me if I care.

“I ... uh, “ he stuttered.

I kept watching him.  I wasn’t going to back down.  He looked at me, cocking his head slightly as he pursed his lips.  His expression softened to something close to pity.

“Did something happen?” he asked carefully.

“Something?”

He took a deep breath and let it out.  “You’re so tough, Anita, but did someone ... did one of those creatures attack you?”

Now my blank stare wasn’t for show.  “You think I was raped?” I asked.

I started laughing hysterically.  Raped.  How wonderful if it were only that simple.  Okay, I don’t mean that.  I’ve never been raped, but I’m damn sure it’s one of the most horrible things a person can endure.  Still, it would have made my moral dilemma so much easier.  Rape.  How clear cut.  But no, I had to actually love the goddamned (literally) monster that got me pregnant.  I had to rearrange my entire world.  Everything went from white and black to varying shades of gray.

Dolph stared at me, uncertain of how to react.  My laughter died and I stared at him.

“No,” I said.  “I wasn’t raped.  Phillip’s father and I are still involved.”

“Who?” he asked and part of me was shocked he hadn’t asked ‘what’.

I sighed deeply.  I hated the idea of telling him, mostly because I was being pressed for the information.  It wasn’t Dolph’s right to ask.  He wasn’t my father.  And part of me knew I was reluctant to tell him simply because his concern was almost parental.  I still hadn’t told my parents the whole truth.  Judith and my father knew about Phillip, they’d seen him and held him, but I hadn’t divulged any information about his father.  I was being a wimp and I hated it.

“Jean-Claude,” I said, and it shocked me that I’d actually said it aloud.

Dolph stared at me.  His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.

“The Master of the City?” he bellowed at me.  “You had a child with the biggest vampire in St. Louis?”

I looked at my feet and nodded.  It would have been great to be able to look him in the eye and admit it, but I was ashamed of my actions.  I stared at the floor as I said, “Yes.”

“Well, I guess I know how you got the inside track,” he said.  “Of all the monsters in the city, Jean-Claude is the biggest.”

I actually flinched.  But there was no way I was going to stand there and debate Jean-Claude’s monstrosity with Dolph.  I knew he was a vampire, there was no getting around that.  But in truth, I knew humans with less humanity than Jean-Claude.  I knew he loved Phillip.  Our relationship was messy, but there it was.  I knew he loved our son.  I knew he would never let harm come to him.  It wasn’t a white picket fence and a minivan, but it was enough.  People trying to kill you on a regular basis makes you prioritize things.  I had mine in order.  My son’s safety came first.  Jean-Claude would go to the ends of the earth to ensure that.  I slept with a clear conscience.

I looked up and met his gaze without cowering.  “My contacts aren’t through Jean-Claude,” I said calmly.  “Our circles of ... acquaintances overlap quite a bit, but he’s not the reason I know these things.”

Dolph looked at me, his face almost pained.  “How deep are you, Anita?” he asked.

“Pretty deep,” I said seriously.

He sighed and his expression hardened.  “So tell me what you do know,” he said.

I nodded.  “The local wererats and werewolves are not involved, neither are the wereleopards.  I won’t tell you how I know that, but I will tell you that I’m certain.  That leaves the other big werecats.  Nothing else has the claws to do that.  Ghouls could have, but some of the victims were too far from any cemeteries.  It doesn’t make any sense.  It has to be a lycanthrope.”

“But not someone local?” Dolph asked.

I shrugged.  “I don’t really know.  Most of the big cat lycanthropes are rare.  There aren’t really enough to form packs or prides.  They’re scattered around.  Also, I’ve been playing mommy for the last few months.  I can’t be positive that someone new didn’t move in while I was busy with my son.”

Dolph was silent, absorbing what I had said.  “Can you find out?” he asked.

“If someone new has moved in?”

“Yeah.”

It wouldn’t be easy.  Richard was spinning out of control.  He’d forbidden the pack to speak to me.  Without my contacts among the lukoi, it would be hard to get information.  The wereleopards would share anything they knew, but Richard also knew that, so he’d told the pack to stay away from them as well.  Jean-Claude was an option.  He could force any of the lukoi to talk.  Of course, that would damage Richard’s position even further.  Damn, it made my head hurt just thinking about it.

“I’ll try,” I said.

Dolph snorted.

“What?”

“Don’t tell me your boyfriend can’t just snap his fingers and make it happen,” he said.

I glared at Dolph.  “I’m sorry,” I said.  “I’m sorry that you thought I was someone that I’m not, but don’t make any assumptions about my life.  You have no idea what it’s like.”

He didn’t try to stop me as I left.

*****   
Jean-Claude was quiet, with that stillness that always unnerves me.  It’s like he’s not there, like his soul has fled and left a beautiful corpse behind.  I knew if I touched him it would be like touching a wooden dummy, no sense of life.

“You will not ask me for help,” he said quietly.

I shook my head.

He took a deep breath and exhaled through his nose.  With that tiny action, his body seemed animated again.  A small, unhappy smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.  “You are rash, ma petite, and stubborn,” he said, “but this time I believe your approach is correct.”

I wasn’t exactly sure if he’d just insulted me or complemented me. I let it go.  I’d learned to do that a lot with him recently.  Who knew having a child would make me more diplomatic?  No.  That wasn’t it.  Being a mother hadn’t made me more diplomatic.  It was just that as far as Phillip was concerned, I trusted Jean-Claude like I trusted no one.  I knew he was the only person in the world I could truly depend on to put my son’s needs above his own.  That gave him a lot of leverage with me.

“If you intervened, it would weaken Richard’s position,” I said evenly.

He nodded.  “Indeed.”

I cocked my head to the side and narrowed my gaze at him.  “I thought you would love to take advantage of this situation.  I know you’ve been a lot more secure since I got pregnant, but I can’t imagine you welcoming Richard with open arms.”

He looked at me with his mask of amusement.  “Are you so certain of that, ma petite?” he asked.

I shook my head.  “I don’t get you,” I said, not bothering to hide the exasperation I was feeling.

“Do you believe Monsieur Zeeman still desires you?” he asked, his face unreadable.

“Richard hates me,” I said dryly.

Jean-Claude smiled.  “That is not what I asked, ma petite.”

“I left him,” I said.  “I ran screaming from him and his beast, straight into your bed.  I have a child with you.  He’s forbidden the pack to even speak to me.  No, I do not think that Richard still wants me.”

“You believe that you have wounded him so deeply that he no longer desires you?”

I looked at Jean-Claude.  There was no censure in his expression, no jealousy.  Just curiosity.  “Yes,” I said.  “That’s what I believe.”

“So young, ma petite.  You are so young,” he mused.

I glared.  That pissed me off.  I don’t like being spoken to like I’m too naive to understand something.  “What aren’t you telling me?” I demanded.

Jean-Claude looked at me but the amusement faded from his eyes.  His vision flitted from me to the cradle behind me.  We were sitting in his office at Guilty Pleasures, on opposite sides of his sexy black lacquered desk.  Phillip was asleep in his cradle in the corner.  Jean-Claude’s expression was positively somber as he blinked slowly and turned his attention back to me.

“You are Monsieur Zeeman’s lupa,” he said.

“I didn’t ask for the job,” I pointed out.

Jean-Claude smiled mirthlessly.  “Regardless of how you acquired the position, ma petite, it is yours.”

I shrugged.  What could I say to that?  He was absolutely right.

“I have spoken with the Ulfric often over the last few months,” he said.

I stared at him blankly, thankful that my jaw hadn’t fallen open.  My lover failed to mention to me that he was chatty with my ex-fiancé.  I was shocked.  I was also pissed at myself for being shocked.  Jean-Claude always has his own agenda and full disclosure is never a part of it.

“What have you two been talking about?” I asked.  I didn’t even bother trying to keep the irritation out of my voice.

He smiled, amused once again and I crossed my arms so that my right hand was on the butt of the Browning.  I wasn’t going to kill him.  I couldn’t do that.  But I could wound him, remind him who exactly he was messing with.  To his credit, he noticed my move and his smile faded.

“You are Monsieur Zeeman’s lupa,” he said.  “You are my human servant and the mother of my beloved son.  Richard is my animal.  The three of us are the triumvirate, bound together through marks and blood for eternity.”

I raised my eyebrows at him sarcastically.  “I already know all that,” I said.  “Why the history lesson?”

“Because you obviously do not understand,” he said, his own irritation with me beginning to show.

“Then explain it,” I said through clenched teeth.

“You are mine, Anita,” he swore with chilling vehemence, leaning forward in his chair towards me.

I don’t know if it’s just Jean-Claude’s nature or if it’s because he’s four hundred years old, or maybe even because he’s French, but he always acts like nothing bothers him.  Even facing down death, he’s absolutely calm.  At that moment, he looked ruffled.  It scared me.  I swallowed hard enough for it to be audible.  He eased down, sitting back in his chair.

“You are mine,” he repeated much more calmly, though his eyes still burned with blue flame.  “Had it been any Ulfric other than Richard that dared to claim you, I would have killed him slowly and messily.  Do not doubt that for one second.”

I was scared.  Listening to him, I was actually scared.  I hated being scared.  I took a deep breath and forced myself to sit up straighter.  “But it was Richard,” I managed to say despite my dry mouth.

Jean-Claude nodded.  “We are both bound to him.  His life is our life.  Killing him is not an option.  So I spoke with him about a great many things, foremost being my son.”

“What about our son?” I asked, scared enough to risk turning my back to Jean-Claude in order to make sure Phillip was all right.  He was, sleeping soundly in the antique wooden cradle Jean-Claude procured.  I turned back to face my lover.

“Just as I believe you are mine, he believes you are his,” Jean-Claude said.

“That doesn’t make it true,” I countered.  I wasn’t a possession, a bone for two dogs to fight over.

“Oh, but it does, ma petite,” he explained.  “Wolves mate for life.  Richard chose you as his mate and now like it or not, he holds to that belief.”

“What does this have to do with my son?” I asked.

“You bore another male’s child, ma petite,” Jean-Claude said.  “From Monsieur Zeeman’s point of view this is unacceptable.  The Ulfric and his lupa are a mating pair, but you have a child who is not his issue.  Phillip is a great threat to his power.”

I felt a chill go through me.  I knew I played lupa to Richard’s Ulfric, but Jean-Claude was right, I hadn’t thought about the ramifications.

“Monsieur Zeeman is a reformist,” Jean-Claude continued, “but some traditions cannot be changed.  The pack feels they have been slighted.  They demand atonement.”

“Atonement?” I whispered.

“Any Ulfric worth his weight would kill his lupa’s bastard child,” Jean-Claude explained.

I swallowed and I felt like I was going to throw up.  No, I hadn’t thought about the ramifications.  Oh, God.  I rose to my feet and made my unsteady way over to Phillip’s cradle.  I picked my sleeping son up in my arms and leaned back against the wall, sliding down it until I was sitting on the ground.  I held him close, breathing in his sweet, soft scent.  My own ignorance and thoughtlessness had put my son at risk.

Jean-Claude stood and walked around his desk.  He dropped into a crouch in front of me, balancing on the balls of his feet effortlessly.  I looked at him, my arms still wrapped protectively around my child.  He reached out and brushed his thumb along Phillip’s cheek.

“For reasons which I hope are stunningly clear to you, I could not allow that to happen,” he said.

I nodded.

“Something must be done, ma petite,” Jean-Claude said softly.  “Some agreement must be reached.  Richard would not harm an innocent child, but allowing Phillip to live weakens his position in the pack.  If I were to intervene on your behalf and force the pack to speak to you about Nathaniel’s murder, it might be too much.”

“Too much?”

“The pack must do what is best for the pack,” he said.  “Having an Ulfric who cannot control his lupa or his pack is not good.  They would turn on him.”

“And kill him,” I said, finishing his thought.

Jean-Claude nodded.  “Indeed.”

For some reason, I finally got the big picture.  I understood Jean-Claude’s machinations.  “And if Richard dies, we die too,” I said.

Jean-Claude’s lips pursed together.  “I am not positive, but there is that possibility,” he said.  “I am not eager to leave our son an orphan, are you?”

I shook my head.  Phillip would not survive without Jean-Claude and me.  We had too many enemies.

“You and Monsieur Zeeman must reach an agreement, ma petite,” Jean-Claude said softly.

“What does that mean?” I asked.

Jean-Claude looked at me seriously.  He leaned forward and gently took Phillip from my arms.  Once he had the sleeping baby cradled to his chest, he rose to his feet and offered me his hand.  I let him help me.  He walked to his chair and sat down. I did the same.

“Do you still love him?” he asked, holding my gaze.

I shifted uncomfortably in my chair and dropped my eyes to the shiny black surface of his desk top.

“Ma petite?”

I looked up and didn’t know what to say.  What could I say?  There was my lover, holding our child, asking me if I loved another man.  I stared at him helplessly.

Jean-Claude smiled conciliatorily at me.  “Je t’aime, ma petite,” he said.  “But I love my son more.  I will not risk his safety, regardless of how much I desire to keep you all to myself.”

I stared blankly at him.  “What are you saying?” I asked.

“Do not feign ignorance, Anita,” he said very seriously.

I closed my eyes and shook my head.  This was not happening.  I opened them again and looked at my lover.  “What?” I asked caustically.  “You and Richard are just going to share me now?”

Jean-Claude looked at me, but I couldn’t read anything in his expression.  “If that is what has to happen in order to keep my son safe, then I am amenable,” he said.

“Amenable?” I parroted incredulously.  “You’re amenable to the idea of another man fucking the mother of your child?”

He frowned slightly at me.  “Do not make this more difficult than it has to be,” he said.  “You love me.  Together we have a child; a child we would both protect at any cost.  You love Monsieur Zeeman.  He loves you.  He is pivotal to Phillip’s safety.  The math is not so hard.”

“No way,” I said.  “No.  Way.  I am not some whore to be passed around whenever you two need to get off.”

“Do not twist my words, ma petite.  No one is suggesting that you are a whore.  You are bound to both of us.  There is no shame in being with both of us.  On this point, Monsieur Zeeman and I agree.”

I stared at him and felt rage so intense I was shaking with it.  “You and Richard discussed this?” I asked, my voice trembling.

He felt my anger, but he did not cower from it.  His expression hardened.  “You are making this difficult,” he said.  “This arrangement would give you both Monsieur Zeeman and myself.  You would no longer be forced to choose.  It would keep Phillip safe, and it would help Richard.  He is on the edge, ma petite.  Remember that if he gets careless enough to allow himself to be killed, you and I could follow him, leaving Phillip alone.”

I cursed under my breath and rose to pace the room.  I couldn’t do this.  It was ... wrong on so many levels.

“What is it that upsets you so much about this?” he asked.

I turned and looked at him.  I opened my mouth to speak and shut it again.  How could I explain it to him?

“Tell me,” he said.

“Phillip,” I finally admitted.

He frowned.  “I am afraid I do not understand,” he said.

“I am someone’s MOTHER,” I said.  “I can’t be hopping between your bed and Richard’s.”

Jean-Claude looked at me incredulously.  “Phillip prevents you from accepting this arrangement?”

I nodded wearily.

“But it is Phillip that would benefit the most,” he said.

I sighed and flopped back into my chair.  I rubbed my temples.  God, I had a hell of a headache.  Everything Jean-Claude said made sense in a really twisted way, but I was having a hard time convincing myself.

“You are trying to apply human logic to this, ma petite,” Jean-Claude said.  “This arrangement is not between humans.  I am a vampire, you are a necromancer, Monsieur Zeeman is a werewolf.  We are not human, we are the Other.  We cannot allow ourselves to be constrained by what respectable human society deems acceptable.  Our enemies certainly will not when they try to harm our son.”

I met my lover’s eyes and could not deny the truth in what he said.  I wanted what Jean-Claude was offering.  I wanted both him and Richard.  I had my darkness in Jean-Claude, but damn if I didn’t want my light as well.  I missed Richard.  I missed his warmth and his smell.  I missed long afternoons curled up with our favorite musicals.  I missed the feel of his muscled body under my fingertips, so different from Jean-Claude’s catlike leanness.  That was what felt so wrong about it.  How could something so hedonistic be good?  Maybe it was my Catholic upbringing, but I couldn’t believe that I could be offered something so self-indulgent without a catch.

Jean-Claude smiled at me like he could read my mind.  “Talk to Monsieur Zeeman,” he said.  “Decide for yourself if the two of you can work out your differences.”

I took a deep breath.  God have mercy on my soul, but I nodded.

[End Confessional] 


	4. Ruin

Three hours didn’t turn out to be three hours.  It was more like six.  Larry had called me and asked me for a favor.  Animators Inc. was so backlogged they were looking at civil suits from impatient customers.  Who would have thought it would be a time sensitive job?  We were dealing with dead people.  If it had just been Bert, I would have let him hang, but odds were that the animators would be named in the suit as well.  I couldn’t let that happen to Larry and Manny, and I had some strong suspicions that though I hadn’t been out on a call in more than four months that I would be named as well.  So I agreed to help out for the night.  I should have known better.  That weasel, Bert, had me raise five zombies.  My quick favor turned into an all night affair.

I wasn’t looking forward to going back to work full time.  Technically, my four months of leave were gone and Bert had finally stopped paying me.  But I hadn’t quit and he hadn’t fired me.  I was just sort of AWOL.  I really wanted to tell Bert to shove the job, but something kept me from doing it.  Maybe it was the money.  I didn’t like the idea of being financially dependent on Jean-Claude.  It was a good reason, but somehow I doubted it.  I’m an animator, but more than that I’m a necromancer.  It’s not a job description, it’s who I am.  I have an affinity with the dead.  My power is like a muscle that needs to be flexed.  If I didn’t work it regularly and control it, bad things tended to happen.  There is more than one reason I don’t keep pets anymore.

Tired and dirty, I pulled the Jeep into the small parking lot behind The Circus and cursed under my breath.  I hated staying at The Circus.  I had a house out in the suburbs with the white picket fence and everything.  It seemed a much more reasonable place to raise Phillip, even if it also housed my pard of wereleopards.  It gave me a superficial sense of normalcy.

I grabbed my jacket out of the back seat and shrugged into it.  I wasn’t cold.  I lived in Saint Louis and it was almost June, it was already hot and sticky.  But I was covered in chicken blood and despite the fact that it was less than two hours to dawn, The Circus would still be packed with people.  None of them should be in the sections of The Circus that I was planning to visit, but I didn’t want to chance it.  I wasn’t in the mood to be stared at.  The Circus had lots of oddities for curious gawkers, but I wasn’t on display.  I slammed the Jeep’s door shut and headed for the service entrance.

As a rule, I prefer baths before heading to bed, but not when covered in chicken gore.  Jean-Claude had installed a shower in his private bathroom and I was making good use of it while he waited in bed with our sleeping son.  I didn’t know if I would ever get used to my connection to Jean-Claude.  So much inside of me rebelled against it, against our attraction to one another.  He was a monster, I believed that, I just wasn’t so sure anymore that I wasn’t one too.  Bully for Phillip.  Maybe Bert would make me enough money to pay for all of Phillip’s therapy bills.

I opened the bathroom door, wrapped in my own thick terrycloth robe.  Jean-Claude had given me some gauzy silk and lace thing that I had promptly “lost”.  There were definite limits to how much I would allow him to insinuate himself into my life.  Most people would probably laugh at that comment.  We were together.  We had a child.  Maybe for some people that would equal happily ever after.  But I’ve already established that Jean-Claude and I are not people.

My lover was on the bed, lying on his back, with Phillip asleep and drooling on his bare chest.  I never would have taken Jean-Claude for the Mr. Mom type.  Shows you how much I know.  His devotion to Phillip never ceased to amaze me.  There were times when Phillip would be crying and I was almost at my wit’s end and Jean-Claude would simply take him and hold him.  He’d look down into that screaming red face and smile with an unearthly serenity.  I don’t know how he did it.  But he did.  And I was deeply grateful.

Jean-Claude slowly opened his eyes and looked at me.  He noticed the robe, but he didn’t say anything.  Point for the vampire.  “How was your evening with Lawrence?” he asked quietly, mindful of the infant on his chest.

I sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed.  “I didn’t work with Larry,” I said.  “Bert had all of us out on cases alone.  More efficient that way.”

Jean-Claude nodded.  He didn’t seem to see anything wrong with Bert’s business practices.  They had the same work ethic, success at any cost and neither of them cared what anyone thought of them.  Somehow I’d never noticed how similar Bert and Jean-Claude were.  It wasn’t a happy thought.

“Is something wrong, ma petite?” he asked.

I shrugged.  “I was just thinking that if you were in Bert’s position that you would probably do the same thing,” I said.

Jean-Claude watched me for a moment and then said, “Indeed.”

I frowned at him.  From the moment I met him, I had always known that underneath all of the sensuality and beauty that Jean-Claude’s core was absolutely ruthless.  For a long time, that kept me away from him, but now it kept me near.  His ruthlessness extended to Phillip’s protection.  He would protect him at any cost and he would never leave him.  A big part of my problem with Richard was his bleeding heart.  He was obsessed with finding non-violent ways to get things done.  In our world, violence was the currency in which we traded.  I loved Richard and I lusted after him.  A lot.  But I didn’t trust him to get the job done when it counted.  And I didn’t trust him to protect himself.  Richard was a victim at heart.  The only thing that saved him from ending up in a body bag was that he was incredibly powerful.  Jean-Claude was so not a victim that the very idea was laughable.  He would survive and if he survived, Phillip would survive.  Funny how your idea of important characteristics in a mate changes over time.

I nudged Jean-Claude and he scooted over on the bed. The movement jostled Phillip and he started to fuss.  His big blue eyes opened and he looked unhappily at Jean-Claude.  I propped a few pillows up against the headboard and my movement caught his eye.  When he realized it was me, the squalling started in earnest.  Jean-Claude gave me a bemused look and handed me the baby.  I leaned back against the pillows and pulled him close, cuddling him.  Jean-Claude propped himself up on one elbow to watch as Phillip settled back to sleep, snuggled to my chest.

He was still watching when I bundled Phillip in his little blanket and put him down on the other side of the bed so that I was between my son and my lover.  I made a move to straighten my robe and Jean-Claude stopped me.  The look in his eyes made me swallow audibly.  I looked nervously at Phillip.

“He is fine, ma petite,” Jean-Claude whispered, drawing me near.

My expression must not have looked convinced because he chuckled lightly.  “Twentieth century sensibilities are so amusing,” he said with a smile.  “I assure you that for a very long time, it was not uncommon for children to share a bed with their parents.”

I chewed on my bottom lip and looked at him.  “I don’t want to wake him,” I said.

“Then we shall be very quiet,” Jean-Claude said as he pulled me closer and sealed his lips to mine.

*****   
It was late morning when I woke.  Don’t ask me how I knew, I just did.  Even though we were deep underground, in Jean-Claude’s private chambers beneath The Circus, I instinctively knew where the sun was in the sky.

Thankfully, Phillip was still sleeping.  I tried to make sure he stayed that way as I scooted off the bed and ran for the bathroom.  I made it to the toilet before throwing up all of the meager contents of my stomach and then doing a good deal of dry heaving.  I knelt on the floor panting heavily as I rested my forehead against the cool porcelain.

Phillip’s cry sounded from the bedroom and I groaned.  My stomach spasmed painfully, letting me know that regardless of the fact that my baby was crying, it wasn’t done with me yet.  I retched violently into the bowl, dry heaving so hard that I felt like I was going to crack a rib.  When it passed, I rested my head against the rim again.  Phillip’s crying had stopped and I sighed in relief.  This deep underground and in his lair, Jean-Claude could move about during the day.  It wasn’t something he did often, but with Phillip in distress, he made the effort.

Despite his silence, I knew when Jean-Claude padded up behind me.  “Ma petite?” he said gently.

I laughed mirthlessly, but didn’t raise my head.  “It’s not me,” I said before I tore off a handful of toilet paper to wipe my mouth.

“I know,” he said, and there was a surprising hint of worry in his voice.  “I have also felt this sickness.”

I turned and met his gaze, regardless of the fact that I knew I looked terrible.  How was the sickness bothering him?  Definitely not as violently as it was bothering me.  Of course, I was physically the weakest of our triumvirate.  “I’ll be out in a minute,” I said.  He nodded and left.

I flushed the toilet and grimaced.  Wounds I could deal with; stab me, shoot me, break my arm.  Queasy stomachs though, they were at the top of my list of unpleasant things.  Somewhere close to having someone stick me with a needle.  Morning sickness had been one thing.  I put up with it because I had no choice and because I knew when it boiled down to it, it had been my own fault I was sick.  I had sex with Jean-Claude.  We weren’t as careful as we should have been.  I ended up pregnant and nauseous.  I made my bed and I lay in it, miserable though I was.

This, however, was not my bed.   This was not my sickness.  I knew for a fact that I wasn’t pregnant.  I had taken some pretty serious precautions.  It wasn’t so much that I abhorred the idea of another child.  I loved my son and the experience of being a mother was infinitely more rewarding and enjoyable than I ever could have foreseen.  But I was not going though another nine months of wondering if I was going to give birth to a revenant or a stillborn child.  If Jean-Claude decided he wanted more kids, he was going to have to find another broodmare.  I wasn’t taking anymore chances.   My left arm was already covered with mounds of scar tissue, so what was one more?  It wasn’t a scar really, I’m a human servant and my healing abilities are phenomenal, but you could feel the six tiny bumps under the skin.  They felt like match sticks.  This form of birth control was supposed to be good for five years and the only way around that was to physically remove it.  When I said no more kids, I meant it.  The only reason I chose this method over a more permanent surgical procedure was that the doctors would have had to put me under.  I didn’t have that kind of time.  I had a baby and a pard to deal with.  I’m not really sure which one ate up more of my time.

I pushed myself to my feet and walked over to the sink.  I avoided looking at myself in the mirror.  I knew I looked like hell, I didn’t need visual confirmation.  I brushed my teeth and headed into the bedroom.

Jean-Claude was giving Phillip a bottle.  The contraceptive prevented me from nursing.  Yes, I felt like a bad mother. No, I wasn’t going to reconsider.  I curled up on the bed and looked at our son.  Okay, so I wasn’t so much looking at Phillip as avoiding looking at Jean-Claude, but I was feeling particularly cowardly this morning.

Richard was sick.  I knew this.  Jean-Claude knew this.  The entire pack knew this.  He was so sick that it was physically impacting the rest of the triumvirate.  I didn’t know if Richard’s sickness was physical or mental, but it was definitely manifesting physically in me.

More than a month ago, Jean-Claude had pretty much convinced me to renew my relationship with Richard.  I had yet to do anything about it.  Every time I looked at Phillip, I hesitated.  I always got these flashes of him in second grade telling his class about his mommy’s boyfriend and about how well Uncle Richard got along with his daddy.  It just made me cringe.  I so did not want to be one of those women.  I may have been a candidate for Federal prison, but I didn’t particularly want to be one for Jerry Springer.

So I hadn’t talked to Richard.  I hadn’t been a particularly big help with Dolph’s ongoing investigation either.  That fact alone was bothering me more than my nausea.  Richard was Richard.  I couldn’t do anything about the fact that he was pissed I had chosen Jean-Claude.  Dolph’s investigation, however ... that was different.  After Nathaniel’s murder I kept the pard close.  On the nights I didn’t sleep with Jean-Claude, I slept with them.  Me and Phillip curled up in a mound of bodies like a bunch of puppies.  Sad as it was, Nathaniel’s death made me realize my place with them.  I am their Nimir-Ra, their animal mother, their alpha, their protector.  If anyone wanted to hurt any of my leopards ever again, they were going to have to go through me to do it, and through the small contingent of constant bodyguards I had protecting them.  Was it stupid to have a bunch of vampires protecting a pard of wereleopards?  Maybe.  I didn’t care.  Damien was mine.  If I said ‘protect the leopards’, he did it.  Same with a couple of Jean-Claude’s muscle, though their orders came from him not me.  No one was hurting my pard again.

But the fact that the Blooddrinker’s pard was safe didn’t mean that the murders had stopped.  They were still happening.  Three of the victims had been lukoi.  I was lupa.  I could feel Richard through the marks.  Their deaths lay heavy on my conscience.  Maybe not as sharp as Nathaniel, but they were there.  And I wasn’t doing anything to stop it because I was too much of a coward to talk to Richard.

“He will drag us all down with him,” Jean-Claude said softly.

I buried my head in the pillow and sighed.  “I know,” I said.

“Jason is available to escort you to Monsieur Zeeman’s home this morning,” he said.  It wasn’t an order.  I may have been his human servant, but Jean-Claude studiously avoided power plays with me.  It was sort of like the relationship I had with Edward.  Respect.  We treaded carefully with one another mostly because there was no way to find out who was better without going all the way.  With me and Edward, it would mean drawing down and one of us dying.  With Jean-Claude it would mean finding out once and for all who was Master.  On one hand, Jean-Claude was Master of the City and I was his human servant, but on the other, I was a necromancer and he was really just an animated corpse.  You didn’t live to be four hundred years old without learning how to be careful.  I knew that Jean-Claude had no intention of ever pressing the issue with me.

“Fine,” I said.  I pushed myself into a sitting position and looked at my lover.  His midnight blue eyes were soft.  He blinked slow, like a cat.  God, he’s beautiful.  He leaned forward and kissed me deeply – and then he sent me off to see our Richard.

*****   
Richard’s house was like mine, in the middle of nowhere.  Normally his place looked like a Normal Rockwell painting, the perfect little sanctuary for a family.  At least, that’s how it had looked the last time I saw it, more than a year ago.  Now it looked like it was a rental for a bunch of frat boys.  The yard was a mess with trash and empty beer cans strewn about.

On the Edge.  That’s how both Irving and Jean-Claude had described Richard.  I hadn’t really believed them, despite the fact that I could feel how unwell my former fiancé was.  Richard had been there when Phillip was born and he seemed composed enough at the time.  Maybe he wasn’t jumping for joy, but I hadn’t seen him as a man whose life was spiraling out of control.  Maybe he’d been wearing a mask for me.  It was a sobering thought.  If Richard had managed to become that good of an actor, what else about him had changed?

Jason pulled into the driveway, parking behind Richard’s 4x4.  His Mustang was presumably in the garage, but there was another vehicle I didn’t recognize, a newer Ford Ranger with deep metallic purple paint.  It was eleven o’clock in the morning on a Saturday.  Richard’s company had stopped by early.

I caught Jason’s eyes in the mirror and then looked at the truck.  “Anyone you know?” I asked.

Jason shifted the Jeep into park, but left the engine on so the air conditioner would run.  He shifted in his seat to look at me.  “Richard has a lot of new ... friends,” he said.

Jason wasn’t subtle, especially when it came to sex.  His meaning was starkly clear.  Richard’s company hadn’t come by early, they’d stayed late.  There was another woman in bed with Richard right this moment.  The mere thought of it made my stomach roil again.  I hated myself for it, but it was true.  I had a child with Jean-Claude, but the idea of Richard sleeping around made me ill.  I took a deep breath.  “Anyone you know?” I asked.  I was trying for nonchalance and failing miserably.

Jason shook his head.  “Richard gets around.  A lot.  He’s fucked or fucking every dominant female lukoi he can find as well as some heavy petting with human women.”

I swallowed harshly and tasted bile. I was going to be adult about this if it killed me.  Richard had a lover before, but he’d been celibate for years, just like me.  Apparently, he was singing a different tune now.  “He must be eager to get rid of me,” I said.

Jason shrugged and sat back in his seat, looking at Richard’s house.  “He seems eager, but I don’t buy it.  He could have replaced you by now, but he didn’t.  He’s just fucking around, hurting you, hurting himself.”

I was silent for almost a minute as I thought about what Jason had said.  “So you think he’s trying to get back at me rather than get rid of me?” I asked.

“You got it,” he said.

“Wonderful,” I said dryly.

*****   
I climbed out of the Jeep, walking through the too tall grass towards the front door.  A broken lawn chair was lying in the weeds.  This wasn’t like Richard.  He was usually so composed, so controlled.  He was a junior high teacher and he loved his job.  School had been out for a month and it looked like he’d been on a bender since then.  I wasn’t certain I wanted to walk into his home, but I didn’t have any choice.

The door was unlocked.  Stupid move, but I guess if you can survive a non-silver shotgun blast to the chest it’s not such a big deal.  I pushed the door open and stepped into Richard’s living room.  Or what was left of it.  My God.  Richard’s house looked like it had been ransacked.  For a good minute I stood there wondering if he’d been burglarized when I realized that there was a pattern to the carnage.  Over the course of our relationship, I’d given Richard a few presents and I’d managed to leave a few things at his house.  The tapes I had given him were shredded and strewn across the floor, a picture of the two of us together was nailed to the wall with a huge hunting knife.

I took a deep breath.  Damn Richard for falling apart like this.  People got dumped every day, but they didn’t let it ruin their lives.  I stalked down the hallway to his bedroom and pushed open the door ...

And instantly regretted it.

She was blonde.  I noticed that much.  Of course, how could I miss it?  Her head was bobbing up and down in Richard’s crotch.  I turned and looked at the wall, but I didn’t leave.

“I need to talk to you.  Now,” I said.

“I’m kind of busy at the moment,” he said.  His voice was breathy with a slight grunting to it.  I doubted she was that good.  He was just showing off for my benefit.  He knew the second I walked in the house, hell, probably the second I stepped out of the Jeep.  He set up this whole scene.

“Yeah, real busy,” I said.  “I’ll bet twenty bucks you don’t know what her name is.”

I was looking at the mirror on his dresser, it let me see their faces without getting the rest of the show.  The woman looked at him.  Richard was wracking his brain so hard I was surprised smoke wasn’t rising off the top of his head.  I tried not to laugh.  It really wasn’t funny.

“You bastard!” the nameless chippie barked before jumping off the bed. She was definitely lukoi.  As she brushed past me to storm down the hall, I could feel it, but it wasn’t overpowering.  Given how visibly angry she was, that was something of a shock.  Jason had said Richard was sleeping with dominant females, but the chippie definitely wasn’t a dominant.  A dominant I could have sensed from the doorway, but I hadn’t known she was lukoi until she brushed against me.  So, she wasn’t a dominant, she’d just been convenient.  I didn’t think it was possible, but Richard slid down another notch in my estimation.

Richard met my glare in the mirror and I smiled sweetly.  I knew if I was waiting for him to get dressed that it would be a cold day in hell.  It was fine. I’d seen him naked before.  I turned to face him and his full Monty.  His enthusiasm was apparently waning.

I looked at him, really looked at him, and cringed.  He looked terrible.  He was muscled, much more so than the last time I saw him, but leaner as well.  The bones in his face stood out in harsh relief.  I never though of Richard as carrying around any fat, but I guess he had because there wasn’t an ounce of it on him now.  It was like he couldn’t abide any softness at all.  His hair was longer, probably reaching the middle of his back, but it was greasy and unkempt.  The bedroom was even more of a mess than the rest of the house.  It looked like he hadn’t changed the sheets in months, which was really disgusting because they were navy blue sheets.  Certain types of stains show up really well on dark sheets.

“You look like shit, Richard,” I said.  And people say I’m not politic.  Right.

“Why are you here?” he countered just as tactlessly.

I smiled and it was really more of a baring of teeth.  “To see if you’ve really become as pathetic as everyone says,” I replied.

Richard growled and there was nothing human about the sound.  I felt his power prickle over my skin and it was hard to breathe.  All of the hair on the back of my neck stood up.  Richard plays harmless really well.  It’s easy to forget that he’s Ulfric.  I was regretting my mistake.

He got out of the bed.  I don’t know how to describe it.  He didn’t climb or crawl or jump.  It was just this fluid movement, like he had muscle and bone and sinew in places where humans don’t have them.  Werewolves are fast.  Very fast.  But Richard wasn’t going for speed.  He stalked towards me very slowly.  My sense of self preservation was screaming for me to run for the door.  I held my ground for several different reasons.  First off, I didn’t back down for anyone.  Secondly, even if I had run, Richard would have caught me before I made it out of the bedroom.  Better to seem brave than defeated.

He kept coming until I had to back up to avoid touching him.  My back hit the wall.  He stopped walking, but leaned forward, placing his hands against the wall on either side of my head.  I met his gaze without flinching.  He looked me up and down, appraising me like I was a piece of meat.

His lip curled into a snarl.  “I don’t take a vampire’s sloppy seconds,” he sneered.

I swallowed hard and cursed myself for blushing.  I had showered before I went to bed last night, not after.  Lycanthropes have amazing senses of smell.

“Classy, Richard,” I said.  “But I’m sure you’ve picked up on the fact that I’m not offering.”  Ha ha.  Use his predator’s instincts against him.  Sure, he knew that I had sex with Jean-Claude, but he also had to know that being near him wasn’t turning me on at the moment.  That said a lot.  Usually simply being near Richard was enough to make my body run hot.  Seeing him without clothes and I automatically lost forty I.Q. points.  Today, nothing was happening.

He flinched like I had struck him and backed up.  I kept the eye contact, mostly because I was afraid if I let my gaze wander that an offer might be issued by my body, regardless of what my mind thought.

“You’re not welcome here,” he said.  “Get out.”

“I’m your lupa,” I countered, staying rooted where I was.

He looked at me and I think he wanted his expression to be condescending and hurtful.  It wasn’t.  I could see the naked pain in his eyes.  “Only until I find a replacement,” he said.

“Replacement?” I asked incredulously.  “You’re not looking for a replacement, Richard.  You’re looking for a distraction.  There is no way the chippie that was in here this morning could ever be lupa, even if she is lukoi.”

Richard’s jaw tightened as he looked at me.  It must have hurt to know I was right.  A lot of lukoi openly opposed my position as lupa.  They didn’t feel that a human could ever be dominant to lukoi.  If they had seen the chippie, they might have changed their tune.  She was lukoi, but she wasn’t dominant.  She was meat.  I had been accused of being a lot of things, but meat was never one of them.

His expression changed and he laughed.  It was not a happy sound.  He stepped backwards and sat down on the bed, cradling his head in his hands.  I watched him, waited for him to move, but he didn’t.  Slowly, I crept forward.  I crouched on the balls of my feet in front of him and tentatively touched the backs of his hands where they covered his face.

He sighed and I felt it shudder through his large frame.  “Please, Anita,” he said without looking at me.  “Please go.”

“I can’t, Richard,” I said.  Some part of me wanted my voice to be comforting and warm, but it wasn’t.  It held the business-edge, the practicality that he so despised in me.

Lifting his head, Richard looked at me.  He was defeated.  There was no other way to explain it, he had given up.  “You’ve been gone a long time,” he said.  “You don’t understand.”

I looked at Richard and my compassion melted away.  Maybe it was my exposure to Jean-Claude, maybe it was the fact that I was a mother now, but I didn’t have time for his ideologies.  I protected me and mine with whatever necessary.  Richard was so damn enamored of his morality that it wasn’t going to cost him his life, it was going to cost all of us and I wasn’t willing to pay up.

“Don’t understand what?” I snapped, rising to my feet so I could look down at him.  “Understand that you’re giving up?  Trust me, I got that one.  Problem is that you’re not just letting yourself down with this, Richard.  You’re putting all of us in danger, me, Phillip, Jean-Claude, the pack.  Everyone is in danger because of your moral dilemmas.”

Richard met my gaze and he didn’t look defeated anymore, he looked pissed.  Maybe it was my words, maybe it was my stance.  Whether he was particularly adept at it or not, Richard was an alpha and wasn’t in the habit of letting anyone ride roughshod over him.  He stood up, forcing me to take several steps back.  He didn’t lord over me because he knew it wouldn’t work, but he did meet my gaze.

“You deserted us,” he said, his voice tight with just a hint of something darker in it, a wolf’s growl.  “You are lupa and yet you left us to fend for ourselves.  You’ve been gone for a year, Anita.  A year!  In that time, the pack has changed.  I have changed.  You have no room to criticize me or my methods.”

The words stung.  He was right.  I had failed the pack, just as I had failed my pard.  But the pard was stronger now.  I was doing my best to forge us into a cohesive until.  Wounds were healing, slowly but surely.  This was my attempt to make amends with the pack, but Richard was clear on the fact that I was no longer wanted.  Too bad.  I was lupa.  I may not have been a good one, but there it was, all the same.

“I know that I could have handled things better,” I said, “but I did what I had to do.  At least I just left.  I made it clear that I couldn’t handle it.  You stayed.  You remain Ulfric when you’re clearly not in a position to lead.  You put the entire pack in danger.”

He blinked at me slowly and shook his head.  He snorted.  “You know there is no stepping down,” he said.  “You think I’m not fit to remain Ulfric, but you know the only way out of this job is to be killed.”

I nodded slowly and dropped my eyes.  What else was I supposed to do?  I was mad at Richard for giving up and for not giving up.  I was mad at him because I was mad at myself.  Because we had both failed the pack.  I doubted that any of them had any illusions about why Richard was falling apart.  It was my fault.  Actually it wasn’t.  It was Richard’s reactions to my choices, Richard’s inability to accept things and move on.  But it was easier to blame me.  Easier for everyone.

“You’re right,” I said.  “You can’t step down as Ulfric and I can’t let you die.  That means you have to lead, Richard.”

“I’m trying,” he snapped.  I was getting the impression that several people must have had this same conversation with him.  I was betting on Sylvie and Louie, maybe even Shang Da and Jamil.

“Well, try harder,” I countered.  “You’re doing a terrible job at the moment.  You’re supposed to be their alpha, their king, but you’re acting like a spoiled child.  You can’t have your favorite toy so you’re placating yourself any way you can, booze, women.  Your wolves are a pack, and as such they have to do what is best for the pack.  You used to be their alpha, but you’re becoming the cur, Richard.  You know what they do with the cur.  They cull it from the pack.  You can’t afford that.  I can’t afford that.  My baby can’t afford that.”

Richard laughed and it was not a happy sound.  He stared at me for a long moment.  “Your baby,” he said.

I shifted nervously.  This kind of reaction I would have expected from Edward, or even Jean-Claude but Richard was usually an open book.  “What about Phillip?” I asked.

“You say I’m not a strong leader,” he said.  “You say that I’m becoming the cur, that the pack will look out for themselves and get rid of me ...”

“Yeah.”

“Do you know what they want me to do, Anita?” he asked and there was a self-loathing edge to his voice, a desperation.

“What?” I asked, almost completely sure I didn’t want the answer.

“They want me to kill him, to bring him before the pack and let them have him.  They want to rip your precious son to pieces and then they want me to reclaim you and give you to them.”

I swallowed harshly.  “They want you to kill Phillip and then to rape and murder me?”  Jean-Claude had told me as much, but somehow it was abstract when he said it, some arcane ritual.  It wasn’t an actual possibility.  It wasn’t something that Richard was being encouraged to do.  But it was.

“Yes, Anita,” he said, his anger to the fore.  “That is what a strong leader would do.  That is what is in the best interest of the pack, but somehow I can’t make myself murder a child or harm you, regardless of how angry I am with you.”

I nodded slowly.  He had a point.  Maybe acting in the best interest of the pack wasn’t such a good thing.  “There has to be another way,” I said.

“There isn’t,” he countered.

“There has to be.”

[end Ruin]


End file.
